


The Prostitute Series

by Oreana



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Abuse, F/M, Love, Prostitution, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-07-18 15:06:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 45,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7320109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oreana/pseuds/Oreana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Part of the prostitute series I will be working on featuring select characters from AC2/AC3/ AC: black flag/ AC: Unity/ AC: Rogue/ AC: Syndicate. I will add others as I experience the games or watch the cutscenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arno Dorian x Reader: An American Prostitute in Paris

**Author's Note:**

> {IMPORTANT: I am afraid that no more Jacob Frye/Assassin's Creed works will come from me having been harassed out of the fandom for nearly half a year. I've lost my drive and passion for it entirely, but I appreciate the support and love that has come from some of my readers. <3 Thank you all for the fun times, but because of the death threats and other absurd comments thrown my way via Tumblr, I'd rather forget about this fandom entirely. Do not expect anymore updates of these stories.}

Never would you imagine being a ‘beautiful foreigner’ (as one English speaker put it) would have you trembling in the cold embrace of Paris late at night. Misery was the only blanket of emotion that cradled you when you were forced to the streets of Paris in hopes of bringing back to the brothel your worth. Misery was often accompanied by fear, however. Men you never knew would demand and pay for your time and body. Hell, some wouldn’t even pay. Some liked it rough, some liked it adventurous, and others just wanted to take what they felt you were offering without allowing you a say.

Not that you could say a damn thing…you didn’t know French. You were just visiting, or so you thought, only to be kidnapped and forced to the brothel as your body was precious and your face, hair, and sweet voice would get them what they wanted. The mistress who owned the brothel even made sure that nobody spoke a single English word around you. The last girl who tried to teach you French…well…you hadn’t seen or heard from her since Madam Leonda found out.

Embracing yourself in the cold of the night, you lowered your head in sorrow. If the mistress could see you now, she would strike you and yell at you that you aren’t going to get men that way. Same could be said if you even came back a franc short of what was expected of you; you would be screamed at and struck with anything that the horrible woman could get her hands on, but you were burdened by the thoughts of home…how you missed it so.

“Bonjour, mon cher.”

The male voice made you look up reluctantly with a nervous shiver crawling under your skin. He was a fit man with rather intricate clothing and slicked back black hair. The clothing part would mean he would have a nice bit of money on him, and, given the look in his eyes, he knew what you were. Looking him over, you saw he had weapons on him and you couldn’t help but swallow harshly at the idea he might use them on you.

“I-I can’t speak French,” you stuttered, and in those words, the man recoiled slightly as if surprised and then he smirked. There was at least one sentence you knew well enough in French and that was ‘it will be 20 francs, sir’, but just as you were about to say so, he grabbed you by the neck and forced you against the nearby wall.

You gasped as the air was knocked from you. Your grip, as weak as it was from lack of sleep and food, held onto his upper arm as you did your best to plead with him. “No…No, please, don’t!” You hiccupped tearfully, not liking where this could go.

He said something in French, but the only words you recognized were ‘beautiful’ and ‘air’…he was probably commenting about how beautiful you looked while nearly suffocating in his grasp.

When his grip finally lightened, you thought you found salvation from God, but it only gave him a free hand to force you around to where your cheek harshly hit the hard wood of the building you were up against. You knew that was going to bruise with how aggressively he pinned you. When you felt him trying to force himself onto you, it was then your eyes widened and you screamed for help. Even if it was in English, maybe someone would come and investigate.

The shine of his sword caught your attention and quieted you when you saw it out of the corner of your eye. Biting your quivering, lower lip, you merely whined in discontent at the thought of what he had planned for you.

Just as you thought he would force himself into you, you heard him gargle…his grip loosened and he soon fell off of you and to the ground. The idea that he was killed made you feel like a startled rabbit that was cornered by the mighty hunter. Eyes shifting about anxiously and body tensed and ready to run, you almost did run for it, but firm hands grabbed your shoulders to turn you around.

It was another man. He had an intricately designed beak of a hood up to shroud his face with weapons of his own to accompany him. You shivered all the more. In the shadow of the night, he looked like a murderer, and now you worried your life would end.

“Est-ce que tu vas bien? Est-ce qu'il vous a blessé?”

You didn’t know a single word beyond ‘bien’ (fine), and that could mean anything with what he was asking. The stranger’s hands moved to your cheeks, and it was there you shook your head wanting to beg for him to leave you be—to spare you—but as his thumbs rolled across your abused skin in a tender manner, you realized he wasn’t a murderer but a savior.

“Est-ce que tu vas bien? Est-ce qu'il vous a blessé?”

He asked the same thing again. You were cold, scared, and hungry and all you could think to do was shake your head while tears pooled from your eyes, cascading over your cheeks and his fingers. As he continued to ask again and again, you wanted to scream ‘you didn’t know French’. It was bubbling up in your throat right when he spoke again.

“Do you even speak French?” the man asked with a crooked smile as if he had figured you out.

Your eyes widened at the sound of him speaking your language. Without even thinking, your hands went to his face in return. You had found salvation in this man yet.

“So that’s it,” he chuckled breathlessly. “Are you alright, my dear? Did he hurt you?”

You wanted to say ‘no’. You wanted to say ‘save me’. However, you were reminded of how nice it was to actually have someone who could speak your language—someone, at the very least, who wouldn’t abuse you; so instead, you collapsed into his arms while crying heavily.

The stranger didn’t say anything at first. He was caught off guard by your reaction, but he steadied himself and cradled the back of your head while trying to shush you gently. “Mon Dieu,” he sighed, grabbing onto you gently and ushering you away from the scene as he held you close. “You are freezing. Let’s get you out of here, shall we?”

 

 

His name was Arno Dorian, you discovered upon his introductions when you both found yourselves in a local bar. It felt odd having a man offering to buy you something to eat and drink, so your first reaction was to refuse only to have him insist.

“You are English?” he questioned curiously, letting you have at the food he had bought.

“A-American,” you practically whispered, rubbing your upper arms nervously.

The hooded man looked to you calmly and with interest. “You can speak louder, my dear,” Arno insisted with a smirk. “I am not going to hurt you.”

You casually moved the spoon in your hand about the hot onion soup he had given to you when he insisted you could speak to him like another person. For many years you were instilled with the idea someone would slap or harm you if you spoke so freely like this to another. It was hard to shake its frightening grasp from your breast.

When you didn’t respond right away, he relaxed in the chair he sat in next to you with a hum. “What is your name? Let’s start with that, shall we?”

After taking another slow and steady sip of the soup, you looked to Arno—wondering if you should answer him or not. “(Y/N),” you whispered.

“Sorry?” he said, raising his brow with a rather cocky smile. “I didn’t hear that from here.”

“(Y/N),” you repeated, voice still soft as ever.

“Again?”

Now you were just getting agitated. You knew he could hear you, so you turned and frowned at him. “(Y/N)!” you said louder this time.

“Ah,” Arno chuckled, leaning forwards on the table once more as he fondled with his beer. “That is a lovely name.”

“Thank you…” Your voice returned to a whisper as you focused on trying to eat knowing you wouldn’t be given anything when you returned to the brothel. You received no money as you hoped you would. That would mean a scolding, beating, and being thrown into your room to sleep without food. This was going to have to last you.

“So what brings you to Paris and brings you to…” Arno paused and merely looked at you. His shifting eyes were enough to tell you that he was asking about you being a ‘whore’ without coming right out to say it.

You opened your mouth to say the truth in hopes this man would save you, but you knew he couldn’t…you knew he wouldn’t. No doubt to him, you were just some worthless whore that saw fit to sell her body for the need of money and a place to live. All men were the same. He wouldn’t be different from the others who sweet talked you and got what they wanted in the end. “I can’t tell you that,” you said flatly, reaching for the bread next to break it apart and start to pick at it.

“Why not?” Arno asked, sounding a bit curious all the same.

“Look…Monsieur Dorian...” you began with a heavy shake of your head and a sigh to follow, “…if you want to sleep with me, it is 20 francs. Take the offer or leave me be, but…I do need to make up for what I lost tonight.”

Arno’s hand turned on the table as if to shrug before he placed his fingertips back on the wooden tabletop. His mouth twisted to the side with a shake of his head at your ‘to the point’ words. “That’s not why I bother you for your time, ma dame.”

“Then why?” You boldly demanded to know, as you didn’t want this to be some way to lure you into a false sense of sanctuary only to be hurt or worse.

“You were in a bad situation, and I happened by,” Arno reminded you, bringing those images racing back into your mind. When you didn’t respond and went idle—staring at the soup and picking at the bread—the man leaned forwards once more to try and catch your attention. “If you don’t mind me saying, (Y/N), it is obvious in how they dressed you that the brothel values you. The clothes you wear are expensive, and yet, they treat you like you are unworthy of even speaking your own name.”

He was observant. You weren’t sure whether that should relieve you or worry you. All the same, the realization that this was your life made you lower your head as your lip quivered. “I just want to go home…”

You heard Arno shift about in his seat again as he tried to lean in closer to you still. “Where is ‘home’, ma dame?”

Shaking your head and calming your sadness, you finished the rest of the meal to the best of your ability. It was a rather unladylike way to scarf down food, but you were hungry, and you had to have something in you. “I should be going,” you whispered hastily. “I need to get those francs back somehow…”

Arno stopped you with a quick yet gentle grab of your wrist. “How much did you need?”

“It…d-don’t worry about it, monsieur,” you stuttered, trying to wiggle your hand free of him only to have Arno take to his feet and bring your other hand to his to where he clasped them close to his chest. It was then you looked into his shadowed eyes and took in a deep breath at the presence of this gentle man. “I can…I can get it on my own…”

Your hands felt heavy for that moment you were gazing into his eyes. Upon looking down at your palms you saw he left a sack full of coins in them. “M-Monsieur…!”

“It’s late,” Arno reminded you, finishing the rest of his beer before putting it to rest on the table. “This should be what you need. If it isn’t, I’ll be shocked. Now then—.” His hand took to yours once more to escort you from the bar and back to the streets of Paris. “—let’s get you back to the brothel, shall we?”

And so this man escorted you. As you both ventured closer to the brothel, you quickly dug your heels into the ground and stopped your hooded escort. “Y-You can’t come with me!”

Your words were so hasty and almost hysterical that it apparently startled Arno as he tried to shush you once more. “Shush now, (Y/N),” he whispered, holding you still. “What is the matter?”

“M-Madam Leonda…!” you whimpered, looking from Arno down the block where the brothel was in worry she might be there watching and waiting. “If she knows you’re speaking to me in English, she-she’ll—!”

Arno quieted you yet again but with his lips touching your knuckles. “Say no more,” he whispered with a rather sly smile. “I can play the fool easily.”

Upon arriving at the front door of the brothel, Madam Leonda was indeed there and waiting in the main room. “You! Where have you been!” she yelled angrily, gesturing wildly only to stop for a moment to acknowledge Arno. Like a flip of a switch, she changed her mannerisms and started to act sweet and kindly while speaking her native tongue.

You watched as she bowed before the man as if he were royalty. She was speaking so quickly it was hard to catch a single word you might know. Leonda motioned towards you shortly after a few words, and when she ceased in her speaking, you looked to Arno with worry. If he said one incriminating thing, the mistress would let you have it.

Arno had paused for awhile, and you could tell in his stance and harsh glare upon Madam Leonda, he wasn’t impressed. Opening his mouth to speak, you felt a sigh of relief escape you as he started to respond in French.

As the two conversed, seemed something was said to Leonda to make her fake concern with her hand to her chest and the other to her cheek. The conversation seemed engrossing and a bit worrying for the mistress as she turned to the other nearby brothel girls and waved at them to escort you away.

The sound of dresses rustling in urgency echoed in the quiet room as the three girls came to grab you and hurry you away and down the nearby hall where they aided you into your bedroom and shut the door without a word to you. Like you said before…not that they could talk to you. In their own way, they worried for you, but the relationship between you was mute at best.

Waiting was the worst. You had to wait in that small, cramped room that smelled of sex and old wine for when Madam Leonda would return. It wasn’t before long that you could hear her obvious, angered footsteps outside, and when that door swung open, you recoiled instantly.

“How much, (Y/N)?” she demanded to know, hurrying over to you and snapping her fingers in anger to ask for the francs you had, perhaps.

Still, you retreated from her; you were just waiting for her to slap you as she always did, and you weren’t in the mood for it.

The mistress was not one for games, and she grabbed your arm so tightly that her nails pricked your skin. You tried to scream to be let go, but her other hand found your cheeks soon enough, and she squeezed you there to stop you from doing so. “Give it to me, you worthless child!” she barked again before slapping you across the face to try and make you straighten up.

Tears staining your cheeks, you flinched from the harsh sting upon your sensitive face, which had been hurt earlier from the man trying to have this way with you. You just wanted to be left alone. It was a long night, and Madam Leonda was only making it worse (as usual).

“That man gave you money; now, give it to me!” she roared, moving your hands out of her way before grabbing the satchel of coins Arno had gifted you.

Your back, literally, against the wall as you curled up on your side there on the decorative covers, the mistress let out that appeasing sigh that usually meant good things for you. She was speaking her desire and excitement in French, so you couldn’t say how much Arno had given you, but it was obviously enough to appease the woman who had this power over you.

“Well then,” she began, moving her light-blond hair from her face to get a better look at you and to try and calm herself with a simple rub of her palms against her complex gown. “Who was that man?” Madam Leonda asked, pocketing the coins and making her way over to the wine bottles in your room to pour herself a glass carefully.

She was like a serpent to you. One moment she would hiss and strike you and the next, she would become docile and refined like she was waiting in the grass for the next perfect moment to sink her teeth into you again. You struggled to answer. What had Arno told her prior? What if you said something wrong?

“Come on now, darling,” Madam Leonda began in that fake caring tone of hers upon taking a seat next to you. “He told me that you were about to be murdered by some brute of a man.” She laughed at that with a meager wave as if the thought was nothing.

“I-I don’t know,” you whispered honestly, not bothering to wipe your tears as you knew the mistress would find a way to make you cry again before the night was through if she could. “All I know was his name was Arno Dorian…a-and that was it…I couldn’t understand him…”

Her fingers went to your mouth once more to squeeze you into obedience. It was a harsh grab, and it made you whimper. “You must have slept with him if he gave you so much money.”

You didn’t respond. Honestly, you couldn’t with your mouth immobilized by her. When the mistress removed her ‘claws’, you finally shook your head.

“No?” she questioned, brows raised and lips pursed in confusion. Madam Leonda brought the glass to her lips and drank slowly while those emerald eyes of hers remained locked on you as if to judge. Pulling the wineglass from her ruby red lips, she smiled that venomous smile while studying the pristine item she had marked with her painted mouth. “I will use my connections to find who this man is and see if I can’t get you to spend more time with him if he’s willing to part with so much money without you…‘performing’ for him.”

Seems she was drunk on the idea of having more of Arno’s money. It was then it made you curious how much he actually just gave you.

Madam Leonda finished off her wine before scoffing at the pitiful look of you. She took to your face once more to study you from side to side. “Honestly, my dear, if we’re going to get anything out of you, you need to not look so désagréable,” she insulted. “That man said you looked sickly and as though you had the plague.” She laughed at her own insult before getting to her feet and putting the glass off to the side on the nightstand in your room. “We’ll have to change that come tomorrow.”

“M-Madam Leonda?” you spoke boldly, urging yourself to the edge of your bed.

She stopped casually in her sultry stride and looked over her shoulder at you with a raise of her brow and a wicked smile hooked to her lips.

Seeing that look made you worry to ask, but you were still hungry and desired a bath as well. “I-Is there anyway I can at least…e-eat something tonight or w-wash…?”

Again, she pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at you accusingly. “Sleep now, (Y/N),” she practically hissed. “We’ll focus on getting you better in the coming days, so you can be fit to sleep with this Arno Dorian.”

And with that said, she closed the door and left you to yourself for the remainder of the night.

 

\--

 

Madam Leonda had her connections, and she used them well. Seemed in the coming days she focused on trying to repair your image and make you look healthier and deserving of this ‘rich man’. When she found he frequented Sainte-Chapelle in Île de la Cité, she sent you just outside of the building now and again in hopes of you encountering him when attempting to gain the attention of men. In the end, you still had to work whether or not Arno did catch sight of you.

Needless to say, it worked; as he found you late one evening standing just beyond the building’s doors.

“Ah, (Y/N),” began Arno as he sheathed his sword he had out (for some reason). Taking your hand and bowing to kiss it, he straightened up with curiosity. “You’re quite far from the brothel. Why are you working this part of Paris?”

You blushed. Admittedly, you didn’t want to be this weak in the knees around this man as your line of work had almost made you grow to despise men. However, this Arno Dorian was making it difficult. “M-Madam Leonda a-asked me to,” you whispered between the two of you.

Arno only seemed to raise his brow at the idea. Perhaps he had a feeling of some sort that he didn’t desire to share.

“Do I look nice?” you asked eagerly, hoping that there could be something you could say or do to entice this man to pay for a night with you.

The man smiled crookedly before taking his hands to his hood and pulling it back to reveal himself all the better to you. It was the first time you saw him without that beaked hood covering him, and it made you catch your breath at finally being able to see his face in its entirety. “Of course you do,” he said with a shrug of his brow. “Why do you need my approval? You yourself should know you’re beautiful, ma dame.”

You shook your head and tried to think of an appropriate response. “I don’t look like I have the plague, do I?”

“What?” Arno asked with a laugh in his words. “Of course not! Where did you get that idea, silly woman?” He questioned, arms crossed upon his chest as he desired to hear your answer.

A hot blush of embarrassment highlighted your cheeks in the cold of Paris. Honestly, you knew better than to trust your mistress, but you couldn’t help but wonder if some of the things she said about you were true. She was the only person—aside from Arno now—that you could talk to. “Madam Leonda told me you said I looked sickly and like I had the plague that last time we met.”

Arno rolled his eyes. “Is that what that woman told you? Inouï (Incredible),” he sighed. “I told her that I was disappointed in how she chose to treat her prized lady. You were skin and bones, bruised all over your arms, and looked exhausted from horrible sleeping conditions.”

Figures. You wished a part of your mistress was loving and affectionate regardless of how often she chose to raise her voice and hand to you, but it seemed that everything she said and did was to instill fear and low self-worth in you.

“Come,” Arno insisted, offering his hand to you suddenly. You looked to it curiously before gazing up to him in a rather nervous manner. “It is best we talk elsewhere.”

He didn’t explain why, but just looking out at the crowd, you could see men staring you down like they had found their easy target in getting what they needed. The hungry look in their eyes was something you knew all too well, and you quickly made your way to Arno’s side and into the comfort of multiple colors cascading over the decorative halls of the chapel not far from where you both were conversing.

“So you don’t know French?” Arno questioned, finding that a bit odd with how he spoke.

You shook your head, fidgeting with your expensive gown that Madam Leonda had gone out of her way to have tailored for you. “No,” you answered quietly again. “Madam Leonda made sure I didn’t learn when she bought me for the brothel a year ago. She would threaten to kill the girls if they tried or threaten to castrate the men who I slept with.” Arno listened quietly, allowing you to continue your somber story. “Her excuse is that my accent and lack of a language is charming to men, but all it has done is get me into trouble.”

“Mm,” hummed the man as he reclined against the nearby wall. “And this Madam Leonda is the only one to speak English to you?” When you didn’t respond, he expressed his sorrow in the thought with the coming words he spared you. “(Y/N), that is a sad life to live. You live in Paris against your will; unable to speak to others, and the one person who can uses those words to snap at you like a viper.”

Your grip on your gown tightened as the sorrow of the matter was starting to gnaw at you.

Arno’s finger gently touched your chin to try and coax you into looking at him. “I will teach you to speak in this world,” said Arno before moving his finger to just under your eyes to catch one of the tears that threatened to mark your face once more. “Shhh, don’t cry, (Y/N). You’ve shown this cruel world your tears enough.”

“You can’t teach me,” you whimpered, hating to dismiss his kindness as your hands gripped onto his in desperation. “If Madam Leonda finds out that I know the language…sh-she’ll hurt you and me…”

His face wrinkled in concern. “I worry more for you than myself. I can handle a woman like that,” said the secretive man, his tone hard from his feelings on the matter. “Just don’t let it slip that you know, and you will be fine, (Y/N).”

“Will it be so easy when God has already been this cruel to me?” you asked your savior, searching his eyes first for some answer.

Arno straightened up. Perhaps it was then he saw how harsh this woman was to you and how much fear she had instilled in you to keep you obedient. “I will not allow that woman to harm you again; at least not in my presence.” He wiped his palm against his mouth in a means to think of how to go about this. “That woman is after my money, no? Is that why she sent you here?”

You flinched. His voice was hard and serious and that alone made you scared. Men usually raised their hands when their voices become so stern. “Y-Yes, monsieur,” you stammered, looking to your feet like a child caught in a lie.

“Okay,” Arno began again, his eyes looking about the sanctuary with a sigh, “Wait for me outside. I need to write a letter to this Mademoiselle Leonda.”

“O-Okay.”

“I will be quick,” comforted the hooded man as he took your hand to squeeze it reassuringly. “Don’t go anywhere, and don’t go with anyone.”

You were scared to do such a request as you still had a job to do. “B-But—!”

Arno smiled and quieted you with his fingertips to your quivering lips as if to know what you were going to complain about. “I will pay you for your time, (Y/N). Do not fret, my dear.” He motioned towards the doors. “Go on now.”

Seemed he was intent on not having you see him do something, and it was there you reluctantly departed from the man’s side.

Men tried to get you to pull away from the chapel’s doors, but you did your best to do as you were told. The man you were waiting for was armed to the teeth compared to these others who were trying to sweet talk you in French and touching you in unwelcome ways. All you had to say was the man’s name, it seemed, and the hungry strangers recoiled their unwanted touches from you and left you be.

You expected Arno to exit through the doors when he was finished, but you were more than startled when he dropped from above and landed perfectly in front of you. Jumping back in surprise, hand to your chest, you tried to settle your rapidly beating heart. “A-Are you alright, Monsieur Dorian…!”

“Of course,” Arno chuckled, as though what he had done was nothing as he moved a letter to your hands. “Give this to your brothel mistress. It should give us the time we need together.” Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the coins she was probably hungry for as well and handed them to you. “And this too.”

“S-So not tonight?” you asked curiously, expecting he would have spent a moment or two with you at most.

“I can’t, my dear,” expressed the man somberly. “I was on my way in after a mission of mine was completed. I also have a few leads to look into before I retire for the evening.” All of the words were nonsense to you. Was he a soldier? The weapons, which adorned his body, would say he was some sort of warrior. “The money should get you home and done for the day all the same.”

You cradled the money to your chest like a welcomed child of deliverance before looking up at him through your decorative hair, which was hanging into your view, worryingly. Alone, you would have to travel to the brothel, and that crippled you with fear.

“Will you be alright to travel alone?” Arno probed, his hand on your shoulder in concern as you stared at him so.

He already said he was busy. You really didn’t want to make him walk miles from where he was just to aid you. “I-I can manage,” you lied, moving your fingers through your hair with a bite of your lower lip.

“Good,” he said simply, moving to kiss your cheek. “I will see you tomorrow then. Safe travels, ma dame.”

A blush, yet again, crept over your cheeks at the simple gesture of the hooded man of Paris. Nodding to his words, hypnotized by his gestures of kindness, you pulled quickly from his presence and hurried back to the brothel with the money out of sight of any who may take notice. The last thing you wanted was to be robbed on your way back to what was as close to home as you could get in Paris.

Madam Leonda was waiting for you to arrive right outside of the old, wooden gates, which enclosed the brothel. It was rare she did such a thing, so you worried what scolding was waiting for you as you got closer to her ever intimidating stance.

“Finally!” she hissed, picking up her dress out of her way and hurrying to you to grab you by the neck and force you quickly into the cold comfort of the building awaiting you both. Passing through the doorway, she pushed you forwards—nearly making you lose your footing—before Madam Leonda grabbed at your shoulder to force you to look at her as she hungrily searched you for the money she had envisioned. “Where is it? Did you get anything from him? Out with it, you worthless girl!”

“H-Here!” you nearly shouted, pushing over the letter and the sack of coins Arno had given to you.

She grabbed at both greedily, but it was the money she took comfort in the most, as the letter was merely used as a means to fan her excitement before pulling her attention to the sealed message by Arno Dorian. “And what’s this?” Madam Leonda questioned, putting the money down on the wooden table nearby to muse it over with lidded eyes of insatiable lust as she scrolled through the writing while whispering the words in French to herself.

Pulling her gaze from the letter and looking to you with a raise of her brow and a mouth agape in a sort of ‘ah ha’ mannerism, she folded the parchment slowly to size you up all the more. Lips pursed with that same venomous smile poising her gestures, she held your chin in her harsh grasp. “Seems you have caught this man’s attention.”

“Wh-What did the letter say?” you asked curiously, hoping she’d spare you that at least.

Madam Leonda laughed at your curiosity and shook her head as she freed you from her icy touch. “He wanted me to have you reserved for him on certain days of the week,” she answered, putting the letter down and pouring herself a bottle of wine. Taking the glass to her nose, she inhaled the sweet and tangy scent before slowly sipping the intoxicating drink. “He wanted to see you Tuesdays, Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays.”

You watched as the mistress turned slowly to look at you with that unwelcome gaze of power. Recoiling at the look, you fidgeted with a bite of your lower lip.

When you didn’t speak, Madam Leonda pushed herself from where she was leaning against the rich, mahogany crafted dresser with her eyes continuing to stare you down in that manner that you knew she was going to strike. Her towering over you now, she trailed her sharp nail against your lip and then to your cheek. “Little princess,” she began cruelly, “do you know how much you are worth?” She scoffed and rolled her eyes with a puff of her blessed chest. “Of course not, and the value in you has gone down since a man ravaged you of your virginity.”

You wished you could forget. The very first man to happen upon you and desire your company was all the more excited to know you were pure and had no mercy in making your first experience painful. He just wanted to claim a virgin girl.

Perhaps she was dissatisfied you didn’t answer or even whimper at her demeaning words to you, for she relaxed and her tongue took care in ridding the wine sampling her painted lips with a slow and steady (almost sexual) way. Pulling her focus to the wine glass she held, she admired the drink with a smile. “Such a delightful wine we are allowed to have. Do you know how expensive it is?”

“I-I don’t—.”

“Of course you don’t, you stupid girl,” Madam Leonda interrupted with that insipid laugh of hers. Her teasing, drunken movements soon became hard and angered as she glared at you. “It is **_expensive_**!” she stressed, her face contorted in irritation. “It is the best we have, and only because of this ‘Dorian’ can we afford it now.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but just as you tried, it was then the mistress attacked. Wine splashed quickly upon your face and stung your eyes and intoxicated your lips as the bittersweet drink marked you from this horrible means of berating you. You tried not to give her what she wanted…you tried not to cry or scream but the desire was clawing away at you within your chest.

The sound of the wine glass shattering on the carpeted flooring, Madam Leonda grabbed at your face to make you look at her, and it was there you broke down and begged her to stop only to have her shake you and demand your silence.

“Don’t screw this up!” she hissed through her clenched teeth, slapping you so hard you found yourself on the floor—a crying mess, stained, abused and heart shattered. “You hear me!” the mistress yelled again, reaching down to grab your wrist and try to force you to look at her while she spoke. “You mess this up, you stupid child, and I will take great pleasure in letting the men have their way with you till you are too beaten and bruised to walk!”

“ ** _YES!_** ” you screamed, wanting her to leave you alone. “I promise!”

She harshly threw down your hand and, yet again, tried to act like a precious, well mannered woman by fixing her hair, which was nearly falling apart from her harsh actions earlier, and checking on her dress to make sure everything was in order. “Clean this mess up,” she demanded to the women cowering nearby and watching the horrible scene. “And take care of the wine glass too,” the mistress sneered before taking her leave of the main hall.

When it was obvious she was gone, it was then the girls hurried towards you. One took to the wine glass while the others knelt before you to cradle you like some weeping babe. You found comfort in the breast of another brothel girl as she guided you to her warmth and shushed you tenderly while the other tried to clean your face with a napkin damp with her saliva. It was nice to know they genuinely cared for you…but the silence forced on all of you hurt the worst.

 

\--

 

Your dress cleaned and fixed after the wine incident days ago, you found yourself eagerly awaiting Arno Dorian. Out of all the men you had grown to despise, he was the only one that felt like salvation. Madam Leonda helped you ready yourself as she tied and tightened your corset there in your room. You hissed at how harshly she’d do such a thing. Every time she pulled the lace, you felt the air knocked from you.

“Remember what I told you,” she reminded you as she did such a thing. Her voice was heavy with exhaustion, as she had been up and about late in the evening hours, it seemed. In a sense, you were relieved in that. It would mean she’d be too tired to slap you.

“Yes, Madam Leonda,” you whispered, feeling much liberation when your corset was in place.

With your dress soon upon you and your hair done up correctly, it was then one of the brothel girls came to the door to knock on it eagerly. You heard her speak hurriedly, but you did hear ‘Arno Dorian’ in her quick speech. Madam Leonda responded with a smirk as she moved you eagerly to your feet.

“He is here,” she said simply and headed to the door to escort you out. “Be quick about it now! Don’t keep him waiting!” It was then you heard that docile anger threatening to snap at you if you provoked her at all, and you did as you were told.

His hood was out of his way, yet again, to show the brown haired man all the better there in that dim lighting of the brothel. With you in view, he pulled his attention from the other girls that were keeping him from wondering where you were, and he made his way over towards you and the mistress after you bowed.

He spoke in French to you so as not to anger Madam Leonda. Taking your hand to his lips, he kissed the back of it as a greeting before grinning. The look in his eyes were as if he were saying ‘I would come for you, see’? All the same, it made you smile a broken smile.

After a few words were spared between him and the mistress of the brothel, you found yourself freed and in the presence of this mysterious man. “You are quiet today,” Arno probed as you both had been walking the streets of Paris for awhile to get far from the harsh hold of the brothel and her uncaring mistress. “Something wrong?”

You frowned. Could you really tell him what was honestly happening out of his sight? It felt as though speaking about it would do nothing to change the situation. “I appreciate your kindness, Monsieur Dorian, but speaking of my pains will do nothing…”

“I am not a priest, no, my dear,” Arno corrected as he came to a stop back at the Sainte-Chapelle. “Sometimes just speaking your hardships can lessen the burden on your shoulders all the same.”

“I am but a bird with a broken wing,” you sighed, shaking away the idea this man could truly be your salvation as you both entered into the beautiful colors and welcoming quiet of the chapel. “Unless you can give me wings to fly to freedom, there is nothing you can do, monsieur…”

“God can grant the very thing you ask if you merely think it, (Y/N),” Arno reminded you with a cheeky grin. “I am but a mere man, so you must be simple with me.” He leaned against one of the decorative columns supporting the holy building. “Tell me how to give you wings, and I shall do my best.”

You stared at him as if he were otherworldly. The gentlemen nature of this man was foreign on its own. “I want to be free…” you practically begged, your hands to your chest. “I want to go home and be warm and safe…not…living this nightmare.”

Arno listened closely. He was no longer smirking but stern and serious as he took in your prayer to him. “That woman hurts you in other ways I am not seeing, doesn’t she?”

Recoiling at his words, you quickly looked away as you dared not speak further of Madam Leonda.

“Those bruises are hardly from patrons but from her, am I right?”

Again, you dared not answer. However, remembering the times she struck you and yelled at you came rushing back all the same and you started to cry. As the hooded man came to aid your sorrows, you looked to him while searching his eyes eagerly for an answer. “Did I do something wrong to deserve all of this? Am I a bad person?” Your voice caved under the pain of emotion of it all, and your crying got heavier.

Arno’s face was the first in many to break into sorrow at the curious question you offered him. “No, my dear,” he whispered empathetically, catching the tears to his fingers as he could. “Sometimes bad things happen to good people. Shhh, shhh.” He tried to quiet your sorrows, but it was impossible. You just wanted to cry. “How much did she pay for you?”

“I-I don’t…kn-know…” you hiccupped against your hand as you tried to shake the horrible memories away from you.

Wrinkling his brow in concern, he grabbed onto your shoulder once more. It was a firm hold but much different in comparison to Madam Leonda’s own grip. It was gentle and reassuring. “Look at me.” Again, a demand that would be so overpowering and frightening coming from your mistress, but from Arno, it was not a command that held malice but concern. When your eyes managed to find his, you did your best to sniffle back your sadness. “I will give you wings yet, my fallen angel. Just give this man time to work on such a miracle.”

You managed to smile at his kind words. Even if it was brief, it was an action you rarely did and it felt welcoming.

“Shall we start with the lesson then?” he asked, figuring it was better to move on from that conversation, perhaps.

All you could do was nod. It was scary to imagine learning a new language, but if learning it meant you were free from harm and in the safe keeping of this Arno, you’d gladly give it a try.

 

\--

 

Madam Leonda was never the wiser in the matter as the days with Arno turned into weeks and weeks became months. You did your best to hide the fact that words she’d yell and scream at the other girls were starting to make sense now; still, you acted as though she was just yelling gibberish to the best of your ability. After spending an evening with Arno, he had gifted you two letters (instead of the one) and the same sack of coins he always sent you back the brothel with.

“What’s this now?” you asked, curious as to why there were two this time.

“The one with your name is for you, obviously,” Arno chuckled, as you hadn’t bothered to look it over. “Hide it from that woman well and give the other to her.” Bringing your fingertips to his lips, he kissed you there with a raise of his brow. “We’ll meet again soon,” he whispered, taking his leave and heading back to the chapel he seemed to take pleasure in residing within.

You did as you were told. Hiding your letter into your brassiere carefully, you took the coins and the other letter to Madam Leonda back to the brothel in haste.

Yet again, the mistress was pleased as she grabbed the sack full of coins from you in a needy manner. No thanks to Arno’s constant paying for your time, the brothel was starting to do better and flourish unlike before. The carpets were no longer a mess and stained with drinks and other fluids you dared not mention, the mirrors were brand new and no longer dirty and cracked, and the fabrics were as fine and rare as the wine brands.

“And what do we have here,” Madam Leonda began, grabbing for the money and the letter with an eager push to your chest to be done with you. It caused you to fall upon the nearby sofa, covered in soft, red cushions that were gentle to the touch at least. You watched as she mused over the letter, your own burning against your chest as you desired to read it in private.

She was quiet—reading it with a few sampled sips of her wine with a drunken laugh at something Arno had written that amused her so. “Oh, how delightful!” Madam Leonda paused in her reading to look to you again with that ever, condescending smirk and corner gaze. “He wants to buy you.”

Your heart quickened in pace at the idea. Would being in his possession mean you were still a ‘trinket’, or was this his means of saving you? “R-Really?”

“Wipe that stupid look off your face, girl!” she hissed, her fingertips touching your cheek to where it caused you to instantly expect a slap, but she refused this round. The nails merely scratched against your skin to tease the idea before she removed them. “I spent thousands on you, and that man is willing to shovel out just about thousands a week to spend with you! He will not have you!”

You should have known better to let your hopes grow strength in that moment. Madam Leonda seemed to enjoy the thought of just keeping you around to torment and squeeze money from you no matter what it took. But you still had Arno’s letter to read…maybe it would bring you hope yet?

She was obviously too drunk to really care to deal with you, so the mistress gestured down the hall to where your room was. “Get out of my company, you stupid girl,” she hissed.

“Y-Yes, Madam Leonda,” you stuttered, taking to your feet and making your way slowly out of sight and to the comfort of your bedroom with a heavy sigh as sorrow gripped your aching heart all the more.

Pulling the letter that Arno gave you from your breast, you wasted no time in opening it to find out what it was he had to say to you that he couldn’t say when you were together.

To my dearest, (Y/N),

She’ll probably tell you that I asked to buy you, but what her answer will be, I do not know. I offered her as much money as I could gather in my travels, but I do have a feeling that may not be enough to sway a greedy woman such as that. Understand, my angel, that when I offer to buy you—I merely offer to buy your freedom amongst other things.

Allow me to explain myself. I find myself most captivated by you. During our times together, I have grown close to you, and I am sure it has shown as I am hardly subtle when it comes to my feelings for others. I know you’re scared of men, and I am sure the life you’ve lived thus far has made you think of them as evil, but allow me to assure you that I am not one of those men hungry for only sensual pleasure you can give.

I want your heart more than anything. While I won’t deny your body is a treasure I’d love to explore further, I would desire to know I have your affection before allowing us to connect on such a personal level. If you say ‘yes’, then I have much more to tell you. If you say ‘no’, then I will still aid you to your freedom all the same without another word. I refuse to have you be this caged bird much longer.

Even if the mistress denies my offer, I will still have you free yet, my angel. Tonight, I will come to you to ask of what she says. If she has refused my offer, then I take you away under the cover of night.

This will be the last night you spend there. Gather what you need and prepare to live again.

I will give you wings yet, my fallen angel; just as I promised I would.

Forever yours,

 

Arno Dorian

You didn’t have the strength to hold the letter much longer as you let it drift from your fingertips and slowly to the floor. Your mind a foggy mess, you placed your hand upon it before finding your bed to lower yourself to its intricate covers as you felt faint. “What…what do I say…?” you whispered to yourself, as you weren’t even sure what to say to this man who had come to love you so.

Yes, you loved and admired him too—all the more for the risks he was taking to make sure you would be safe—but you never considered the prospects of a relationship.

Honestly, you had no personal belongings beyond the clothes on your back, and even then, you wanted something else that wouldn’t remind you of Madam Leonda and the brothel, so you waited for Arno to arrive as he promised. He didn’t say when he would come, so all you could do was hide the letter still and take to rest on the bed.

The feel of someone touching your cheek roused you from your slumber, and it was there you took comfort in Arno’s hooded shadow standing over you. “Are you ready?” he whispered in French.

Remembering the kind hearted words he spared to you on paper, you struggled not to cry as you swung your arms around his neck tightly while stifling your cries there in his clothing. “Thank you,” you whispered shakily in English, moving to his lips to kiss him eagerly as a ‘thank you’ once more.

Arno didn’t push you away, though he did tense as he was caught off guard. Kissing you in return, he eventually ceased the affection with a smile. “Later, later,” he said softly, wiping your tears from your cheeks best he could. “Let’s get you out of here first.”

You nodded, hurrying to your feet and taking to his hand. “I am ready when you are. I have nothing else…of value…” you reluctantly admitted, as all of that was stripped from you and sold to pay your way at the brothel before you started making money.

The hooded man snuck back out through the front door when all was quiet. You had yet to question how he broke in till you noticed a hidden blade there underneath his wrist. Did he use that to jiggle the door open? You hadn’t thought to ask as he quickly made his escape with you not back to the chapel, but towards a carriage just outside of it.

“We have to be quick, my dear,” Arno insisted between the two of you. “Did you read my letter?”

You nodded quickly.

“Good, that will make this easier,” he smirked teasingly. “If you say ‘yes’, then I take you to the chapel and explain a few things to you, but if you say ‘no’, I have to get you in this carriage, which will take to the boats and have you on your way to where you need to go. We can’t have Madam Leonda finding you again.”

It was a split second decision. Would you stay in this hell and continuing living with the man who just confessed himself to you and aided you to freedom, or would you ran back to America and try to forget everything about you two?

“I can’t be without you, Arno,” you whispered tearfully, not wanting to imagine going back to only loneliness. Sure, it was hell in Paris, but Arno was the light there within it and within your life. “You did so much for me…”

“Then you stay with me,” Arno encouraged with a small laugh. “I would travel to the ends of the world for you, my angel, but I am needed here by Paris and her people.”

Honestly, you couldn’t argue that. Seems there was more to this man then you knew, and, if he was willing to do so much for you, you were willing to stay no matter what. Pulling from the carriage, you wrapped your arms around him tightly with a muffled cry as happiness finally allowed you its embrace. “Then I’ll stay,” you whispered, moving to kiss him deeply yet again with a bright smile. “I cannot say ‘no’ to the man who gave me the miracle of life again…”

Arno smiled crookedly down at you with a raise of his brow. “Then come with me,” he said softly in return, taking your hand into his and escorting you to the Sainte-Chapelle. “I have much more to tell you as well as show you.”

And stay you did. No matter what it meant, you would remain with the hooded man who had given you a reason to smile for once since your arrival in Paris.


	2. Connor Kenway/Ratonhnhaké:ton x Reader: No Man's Property

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will be a different scenario with a different character in the franchise with the reader as a prostitute. This one will have the reader and Connor—my first time to attempt to write to this lovely man, and I hope I can do him justice—where Connor is a bit confused about what a prostitute really is when running into the reader as one.

You couldn’t say selling your body was much of a life to live, but it was one you lived to the best of your ability nonetheless. People looked down on you, sure, but you had money to get by in this wretched world and what else could be said about that? It wasn’t the wisest decision you made that day—taking to the streets late at night—but most men looking for sensual pleasures usually roamed about the late hours (drunk or sober).

The brothel girls had taught you everything you needed to know and what to look for in trying to weasel money from a man. Most drunks were easy to coax into the notion more than sober, but some could be angry when foggy headed with whiskey, so you had to make sure you choose who to approach wisely.

Bottom line: picking the wrong man could end your life.

As you stood your ground in the cold caress of night, you watched the very few men that wandered the streets. One in particular caught your eye…but not in the right way. He was Native American, from what you could make out in the dimly lit streets, and that alone made you pull from the idea of even approaching him even if he cast you a look of interest.

You were told such awful stories about the natives in the land that all you could think were that they were savages. He was still staring and that alone made you try to act disinterested as you didn’t desire his company at all. Besides, he probably wouldn’t even pay you. _Keep walking, barbarian_ , you thought to yourself irritably.

Regardless of your thoughts, the nameless man adorned in rather intricate clothing began to approach you. Swallowing harshly, you backed up out of instinct. You had never had to see these people up close such as this, and why this one was so far into the town was beyond your understanding as they usually were kept outside the town limits unless owned by some man as a slave. The weapons upon him would easily tell you he was a free man to do as he pleased. The wall behind you made you realize you couldn’t go much further than that, and you were stuck with this man soon looming over you.

In the end, you’d have to be polite. Once again, you couldn’t anger the wrong man no matter what you personally felt about his kind. “Can I help you, sir…?” you asked, trying to sound meek and unimportant to someone such as him.

“You are the only woman I’ve seen out this late,” the man said rather matter-of-factly as he kept his gaze upon you.

It was true. Most women and children were indoors at late hours tending to their own business while the men could do as they pleased. However, you had no man to tell you what to do—at least not yet.

You smirked at his words of interest and shrugged your shoulders as if the idea was nothing to you. “I only go inside when a man pays me,” you explained to try and hint at your profession. Maybe he would be interested? You weren’t sure.

“Why must a thing happen?” he inquired, his eyes expressed absolute loss in your sentence. “It is cold out here, and you could catch death from it dressed in clothes like that.”

Opening your mouth to counter, you stopped yourself and merely shook your head. He wasn’t a normal man; you had to remember this. Maybe if you just came right out to say it, he might understand it better and move along? “I am a prostitute, dear.”

Still, the man gazed at you bewildered by such a title. It was obviously one he had not heard before.

“Anyways,” you sighed, ignoring the idea of explaining yourself further to him, “I am sure you have things to do and better places to be.” You waved at him eagerly. “You should probably be on your way.”

“But you look cold out here,” this tribal man continued, as if not wishing to drop the topic. He was probably taking notice of how you were embracing yourself there in the chill of the night, but you had grown used to such conditions. “Can I not at least help you home?”

Admittedly, you wanted to tell him none of this was his concern and to be off, but you were conflicted with his honest words and kind behavior for someone you deemed barbaric a moment ago. Nobody took notice of you. Everyone just saw you as a _thing_ more so than a person who might actually have needs, and in that small exchange, this man was willing to offer you warmth by escorting you back to safety. Again, you smirked and looked down at your feet before having the time to look him back in the eyes. “What is your name, sir?”

The man struggled for a moment. Did he not know his own name, or was he worried you wouldn’t be able to pronounce it? “Connor,” he said simply, not giving a last name of any sort to you in the process. Connor looked to you and nodded in your direction curiously. “And yours?”

“(Y/N),” you answered in return before smiling at him reassuringly. “Thank you for your kindness, Connor, but I promise that I will be fine out here. I’ve done this before—many times, in fact.”

“You’ve never gotten sick?” Connor probed curiously, finding that odd. Perhaps he saw you as some frail woman who couldn’t handle herself as he could? You weren’t sure. He had already shown more humanity than any other man out there so far, so perhaps it would be wrong to think such ill thoughts.

“No,” you answered with a shake of your head. “If I get sick, I am sure it will be by some other method.” Again, you were being vague, but you knew sleeping with one man and then another wouldn’t go well for you in the long run.

The confusion was written on his face once more, but it seemed that was enough to have this wild man nod his head in understanding. “Be well then, (Y/N),” said Connor, as he wasn’t sure what else to say to you to insist you head out of the cold, perhaps.

You wanted to just let him be gone, but you sighed with your breath apparent on the chilly air. “Connor?” you called out to him to stop Connor in his tracks and have him look at you. A smile crept upon your lips (no matter how brief it was), and you responded, “Thank you for your concern.”

He did a slight bow of his head to the words you sparred him before continuing on his way for the evening.

After he had left the area, your mind ventured back to your exchange with him. You tried to shake the pleasant thoughts of that man away, but it would prove to be a challenge, it seemed, as kindness was just so hard to come by these days.

 

\--

 

Sickness never found you as that Connor fellow worried it would. You were relieved. The last thing you wanted was to be sick in bed for a few days when you should be out trying to get the money you needed. The roof over your head wasn’t a great one, no, but it was a roof all the same, and it took money to keep it all together. Last night, you were able to make a bit of coin, but only enough to pay for a single meal as you still had to pay your way in the brothel as well.

“I don’t need that woman yelling at me,” you grumbled to yourself in regards to the woman who owned and ran the brothel. Grabbing up your nice set of clothes, you figured working the morning hours wouldn’t be a bad plan right about then. Working nights was a lot more adventurous, sure, but it was also sporadic in who you stumbled upon.

You did your best to entice men of all kinds to your chambers at the brothel. At this point, you had to work hard and do whatever it took to make sure things went well. Easily, you fell into the sweet talking that any man dared flatter you with. Yes, they were just saying what they could to have you spread your legs to them, but regardless of what prompted them to say such things, they were welcomed to you all the same.

By nightfall, you still were short, and you swore at yourself for how difficult business had been as of late. It used to be much easier than this, so what happened? You dared not blame yourself in the end. You hadn’t changed in personality or even appearance. Maybe it was the talk of war that always fell on the town’s ears? There were only so many accusations you could make on the subject as you took back into the cold embrace of night.

You went back to your usual spot not far from one of the local pubs to keep watch on the patrons coming in and out through its doors. However, judging by the uniforms of importance most men wore coming and going, you could tell they weren’t boozers, so the night may end up long yet. One of the men walking in caught your eye, however. It was that Connor again. You never pictured his kind to be one to enjoy in a drink, but, honestly, you knew so little of him already. You never even knew how or why he was able to walk about town as he was without anybody raising hell over it.

As the time went onwards, you could find yourself getting colder and exhausted. Would there really be another day where you’d have to find yourself without food? You already wasted the last bit of coin you had on a meal…you needed more money to allow the brothel to believe you were worthy of being kept. Your back against the brick building, you embraced yourself with a sorrowful sigh knowing your earnings would have to grant you salvation over starvation.

Just as you were lost within your own thoughts, you heard someone approaching you, but you didn’t think to look up right away until the sight of an intricately woven quilt was seen dangling in view. It’s pattern caught you by surprise. It was of a quality you had never seen before and the tassels upon it made it feel otherworldly to you. Eyes trailing from the ends to the one responsible for holding it, you saw Connor once more and a brief smile flickered upon your face to show his presence was welcomed.

“Here,” he said, handing it over to you. “You say you are fine out here, but your eyes tell me another story.”

You looked to the handmade quilt offered to you, but you didn’t want to be a bother to this native man. “I am fine, Connor,” you insisted once more. “I promise I’ll be—.”

But he didn’t listen to you, and when you kept refusing the offer, he moved the welcomed warmth around you all the same. It smelled of the wild to you; not in an unpleasant way, but in a relaxing sense, as the woodlands always reminded you of freedom. The designs were the most intricate you could ever witness on a quilt today when you had a chance to look at it a bit more up close. While a bit heavier than you’d expect a quilt to be, it still had a strange warmth to it compared to other handmade blankets as well—as though the fabrics were so strong and resilient, nothing could penetrate them.

You found yourself wrapped in this gift without another word from Connor, as his serious look stayed upon his sculpted face. He seemed ‘all business’ so far, as you had yet to see him smile or even heard him crack a joke. Yet…once again…his actions were comforting all on their own. “Thank you, Connor…” you whispered in the dead of night, not expecting this man to be so gentle given the stories you allowed to pervert him and his people.

“You said if a man pays you, you’ll go inside,” Connor pointed out curiously. “Should I pay you to come out of the cold?”

You stifled a laugh at his naïve behavior towards what you really were. He was like a child experiencing the world for the first time, and for whatever reason, that made your heart feel lighter. “The only place I could go back to is the brothel,” you reminded him, wishing you could go to the pub at least. You’d do anything for something to drink or eat.

Connor looked from where you stood back at the pub he had just come from and then back to you. He wasn’t one to talk much, you noticed. Digging into his uniform, he handed you a few coins with a curious look to his eyes. “Is this what you need?”

Looking at the money offered you, you didn’t question how he got it as you knew the natives relied more on trading than actual money. As you ran your fingers over the glistening currency, you counted how much it was in total with what you had put away in your satchel and you felt relief wash over you as it would be indeed be enough to get you through another day. “Yes,” you answered, putting them away with the others with a bright smile. “It will be enough.”

But he didn’t know what it was you did for a living; at least, his actions and words suggested so anyways. “Come with me,” Connor insisted, stepping away from the building you were residing before and heading back to the pub he had just come from.

You didn’t argue. He had paid you, so whatever he wanted to happen would happen no matter how nervous you were of being around this man.

Frequently, you had been in and out of pubs from time to time. You weren’t allowed in unless accompanied by a patron who could pay your way, however, as you were scolded not long ago for disturbing the customers with your attempts to get what the business that you needed.  But Connor had paid you, and if the pub was where he wanted to be, then so be it. He had bought you a meal, and you felt gracious for him and his company.

“You are a strange man, Connor,” you felt compelled to say as you savored the food there on your plate. “Not many I know of would take interest in me and worry for my well being.”

“I know your people and mine are different,” said Connor honestly from where he sat across from you. “We see freedom as a welcomed word whereas yours chain it down and only give it to those you deem worthy.”

There was no lie there, so you lacked a response. You just stared down at your drink as if ashamed to admit that was truthful.

Connor leaned against the table with his fingers intertwined with one another upon the wooden tabletop. “Why must men be the one to tell you what you can and can’t do?” he asked curiously.

“I told you I was a prostitute, but it is obvious you don’t know what that means,” you said in your defense. Honestly, how were you going to explain this without making yourself seem weaker than he already perceived you? “I sell my services to men, and whatever they want done, I’ll do it.”

“To say such things would say you are a warrior,” corrected Connor, finding your statement false in its vagueness. “But judging from the look of you, you’ve never carried a weapon in your life.”

“I sell my body for favors,” you finally said, lowering your head as you felt shameful in it.

Connor reclined back in his chair at the sound of that. Was he disgusted by what you said? You couldn’t tell. He kept the same stoic face from what you saw when you found the courage to gaze upon him. “You think lowly of yourself?”

That made you angry for some reason regardless of how much truth it rang. Your fingers coiled in anger at that statement and you bit your lower lip to prevent venomous words from spilling forth. “The praise and the money is delightful, Connor,” you said, trying to still your anger in your shaking tone. “However, that’s not only why I do it.”

“You are forced to?” he asked, curious to know why you chose this profession.

“I do it of my own free will.”

Connor’s small laugh sounded bitter at best. “So you chose to lock yourself in chains?”

“It is not that simple!” you hissed lowly at this ignorant man. Realizing you were letting your anger flare, you let it settle for a second before continuing. “Once the brothel has you, there’s no escaping it. You have a debt that needs to be paid…or they will end your life for wasting their time.”

“And what was that you said about doing it of your ‘free will’?” Connor asked accusingly, his hand clutching into a fist upon the table.

You sucked in your lower lip. None of your past was his concern. None of it! Never would you allow anybody to know that your own father sold you to the brothel to pay off his debts he owed and that, at a young age you feared to mention, you had lost your virginity to some scumbag who would have you. “Stop asking these questions, please!” Your voice was quiet, but there was enough anger and strength in your tone for Connor to relent.

“There is pain in your words,” the observant man pointed out. “I am sorry for causing them.”

Again, he would be the first to apologize for hurting you. Not even your own father did that. Sighing, you felt your body grow heavy with sorrow. “I appreciate that, Connor.” Your voice was a mere whisper, but you lacked the strength to be more vocal than that.

Quietness engulfed the air between you, but you weren’t sure what else to say now. Yes, he didn’t mean to hurt you, but his questions and comments did all the same and now you felt burdened by them.

“You will go back to this brothel then?” Connor asked to remove the deafening silence.

You flinched slightly at his question. “I have nowhere else to go, so yes.”

“So that is why you are always there outside of this building?” he continued. “You are looking for money?”

“That is what I require to stay breathing, yes,” you answered weakly yet again, fondling with your tankard.

“Will what I gave you help?”

You couldn’t hold back your meager laugh as it erupted forth from your lips. “Yes, Connor,” you answered, looking to him now to let him see that you were being serious. “It will help me greatly, thank you.” As you took a long drink of your liquor, you thought back on him and his tribe that was no doubt out in the wilds about this world. “What is it like where you live?”

“Much different from your world, (Y/N),” Connor said simply at first, taking a drink himself. He remained silent for a moment as he thought of how to phrase it. “For one, we don’t have slaves—we live in the embrace of freedom.” He looked you up and down for some reason before continuing. “We also don’t lie beside anybody but the one we choose to be ours.”

A cold smirk happened upon your face. “So you think ill of me?”

“Your world is different from mine,” Connor reminded you with a shrug of his hand. “Why should I pass judgment upon someone in a world I know nothing of?” You were quiet, as the air was knocked from you at such an odd response. “I’ll always see slavery as wrong as well as the mistreatment of my people…but there are other things in your world I cannot grasp yet, so I have no say.”

“You are indeed a strange man,” you chortled lightheartedly, finishing off the rest of the meal he had bestowed you. “Not many men I know of would be so quick to say ‘it is not their place’ when they feel everything I say and or do is their place.”

Connor didn’t respond; he merely gazed upon you curiously. Apparently, he couldn’t speak for everyone.

Finding your feet, you worked on removing the quilt from your back to hand back to the man who gifted it to you. “I should give this to you before I head back.”

He raised his hand to the offer. “I gave it to you,” Connor said honestly, finishing his own drink before taking to his feet as well. “Did you need help getting back to this brothel of yours?”

“No,” you answered, keeping the blanket upon you a bit tighter as you knew the night would be colder given the hour. “It’s an easy walk there, and I will be fine.” You weren’t sure if he’d approve or disapprove of the action, but you reached over to him to take his hand within yours. Regardless of the pains of the past being uprooted no thanks to him, a bit of peace came to mind as well. “Thank you for everything, Connor.”

The native man didn’t seem displeased in your actions. He didn’t shake you away like some unworthy being and that made you smile. Instead, you felt his hand flex to yours and the rough feeling of his fingers touched the back of your hand in a tender manner.

Moving towards the door, you released his hand and continued, “May I see you again soon.”

You felt bad having to let this nicely designed piece of art get dragged to the brothel. It was so enchanting in its look that you didn’t want any harm to come to it, but since Connor refused it back, you had little choice in the matter as you traveled back to your ‘home’.

 

\--

 

The next day was hardly different from the others. The only thing that was surprisingly different was the fact the owner of the brothel came to speak to you about a client. She had let herself in without so much as a knock—catching you a bit off guard in the process.

“Wake up, (Y/N),” she insisted, moving the curtains from your window to let the light pour in to aid in such a thing.

You groaned, burying your face for a moment as strong light in the early hours was very unwelcomed. However, that woman was relentless, and she began to clap her hands eagerly to get you to rise after lighting the small lantern in your room.

“Come on! Up!” she barked again, grabbing at the quilt Connor had gifted you to tear it from your body. “There is a man here asking for you! Get up and get dressed! Don’t make me ask again!”

She was a strict woman, sure, but what boss wasn’t? Her name was Lily James—an average build of a woman with orange, red hair and blue-green eyes with freckles adorned her face. She had a sweet side, but also a side that could make you forget such a part of her existed if you so much as crossed her.

Pulling yourself from your peaceful sleep, you tried to rid your body of exhaustion with a look to Lily curiously. “Who is it?” you asked, attempting to hide how tired you truly were.

“His name is Terrance Jefferson,” she answered with a tone that suggested she was annoyed you’d bother asking such a minor detail.

Terrance…you knew who he was. He was a man who felt he was justified in doing anything he pleased. It led him to be a character about town you cared very little for, as he would pay women for their time and do the most horrible things to them. Women returning to the brothel shaken, battered, and bruised…yet Lily cared little so long as he was willing to pay to keep the brothel standing.

“What does he want with me?” you asked nervously, getting to your feet to walk over to where your clothing was neatly folded to work on ‘dolling yourself up for him’ all the same.

“How would I know?” Lily asked with a raise of her brow. “I care not for the reasoning behind men and why they desire one woman over another. All I know is he has the money for it, so get dressed now!” she ordered once more and took her leave of the room to let you be in peace.

You worked on getting everything in place upon your body slowly. Honestly, you were in no hurry to run to this man’s embrace no matter what it was he promised you. Once you were dressed, you made your way to the main room of the brothel where patrons usually gathered and saw him standing there talking to Lily all the same.

“Ah, there she is,” Terrance pointed out, gesturing to you as you walked on in. He made his way to you and took your hand to kiss the back of it like a gentleman would, but the feel of his breath and lips upon your skin made you feel a sickness rise up within your stomach. “It is a pleasure to see you, (Y/N).”

He knew your name. Of course. He made it his business to know the goings on about town, so you expected no less. Even if you didn’t desire his company or his money, you forced a smile upon your lips and nodded to him. “It is a pleasure, Mr. Jefferson. What do I owe the honor?” The words were hard to even usher from your lips. You worried where this would all take you when it was over.

“I’d think given your profession, my dear, that would be obvious.” His words were almost degrading as well as the way he spoke them. It was as if he were laughing at the mere thought of this going anywhere beyond you ending up in his bed.

Still, you did your best to still your tongue as you nodded. “How much are you offering?”

He leaned in to whisper to you, but also used his body to hide his actions as he grabbed your wrist so tightly that it made you nearly want to scream in pain. “We’ll discuss that later, shall we?” Here, he pointed towards the door leading out of the brothel. “After you.”

You waited for him to loosen his grip upon you, and once he had done so, you reluctantly left with him. Stomach in knots, you were nervous at what was to await you when you arrived at his housing. Terrance refused to use the brothel itself given his cruel and strange ways about things, and now…it was your turn out of the women to suffer his ‘exotic’ way of things.

Ushered into his home, you took no comfort there. All you could do was prepare yourself for whatever was to happen next. “What do you want with me?” you boldly asked, only to have this horrible human being come from behind you to grab your chin and force you to look at him. The touch was so unwanted by you that you struggled to escape it at first only to have Terrance shake you to make you straighten up.

“Is that really your place to ask?” Terrance asked in a low hiss of a whisper, moving your lips to his in a forced kiss.

His breath was horrid. It was stained with beer and the smell of smoke, making you nearly cough from the unpleasant taste. He obviously felt you trying to wiggle free, for it was there he shoved you down upon the wooden flooring of his home. Arms and side hitting the boards in a harsh manner, you cringed from the pain that rocketed through you before looking at him pleadingly to stop this madness.

“Oh, little girl,” he sneered, walking upon you slowly like a predator that had its wounded prey in sight, “you are in my domain now, so I can do as I please.”

You tried to scurry away from him, but Terrance was faster. Fear was your worse enemy in this, as you were frantic while he was calm and malicious. His knees on either side of you pinned you in place upon your front as you felt him grab your hair; a scream erupting from your throat in the process. “Stop it! Let me go!” you begged, fingers curling in an unpleasant way to where you marked the boards underneath you and even injured a nail or two.

It was then you felt something cold to your throat. Eyes widened, you realized what it was as Terrance brought his lips to your cheek as if to falsely sooth you into submission. It was the flat part of a blade…a blade that would easily end you with wrong false word spared or one wrong move. Your lips trembling, you looked to this beastly man in horror. “There, there,” he cooed fallaciously, moving the blade towards your other cheek to let you see it even better. “If you just do as I say, then this won’t be as bad as all of that.”

What could you say about it regardless? You were at the mercy of this man.

In the end, the day was long and endless…Terrance had his say in everything, and if you so much as didn’t do as asked, he struck you. Needless to say…he struck you hard enough to leave an awful mark upon your right eye and a cut upon your lip. Your body was sore from all that he had done, and you felt the worst sort of uselessness wash over you from all his insults and verbal berating when it was done.

You were almost in shock when it was finally over and he threw the money you needed on the floor at where you were lying beaten and aching. The taste of blood upon your mouth and even staining your teeth, you looked up at the horrible human being who dared call himself a man. Chest heaving from the sobs that had overwhelmed you, you closed your eyes tightly when you felt his boot nudge your sore face.

“Mmm, not bad, (Y/N),” he smirked, the candle in his possession illuminating his features all the more as night had settled in around you both. “You took a lot more than I was expecting. That was impressive.”

You didn’t want to be ‘impressive’. You wanted him to leave you alone or say what a failure you were and let this be the last of it.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, turning to leave you there on the floor. “Now, get out of my house.”

You didn’t need to be told twice, but you were slow on getting there. Your legs hurt and were even bleeding from the scratch marks upon your thighs. However, with what energy you could muster, you grabbed at the money and hurried with a limp out the door and into the night.

It was so hard to even run as you desired. You were in more pain than you realized, and it made you stop to rest against a building for a moment to try and recollect yourself. Tears streaming from your bruised face, you got defensive when someone reached for you. You turned around to push their hand away only to be grabbed by the one responsible.

It was Connor who was looking at you now in anger fueled curiosity. “What happened?” he asked, his tone hard and heavy.

“I-It’s nothing, C-Connor,” you whispered, but you knew your pathetic lie wouldn’t get you far from him. His hand to your face, you felt him touch you there just below the bruised eye that had taken a horrible hit from Terrance earlier in the day.

“To tell me you did this to yourself would be another lie I am not welcoming,” Connor hissed as if to scold you for trying. “Did some man do this?”

He was eager to know the answer, and while you appreciated him being there, you just couldn’t handle this at the moment, and you started to cry heavily. “It was…and I might have to endure his w-wrath tomorrow…”

“To raise a hand to one so defenseless is a crime on its own worthy of punishment,” the tribal man growled, and it was there in the moonlight that you saw his face harden all the more. “Who was he? What is this ‘man’s’ name?” He was mocking the idea (as you were earlier) that this person could very well be called such.

“No, no, don’t do such a maddening thing, Connor!” you begged, grabbing his face to make him look you in the eyes and swear he wouldn’t. “I don’t want to be responsible for anything such as that…!”

“You would allow a man to raise his hand to you and then protect him?” Connor was almost yelling as he was unsure of how to even take your behavior in this. “Why would you covet these chains that bind you so?”

“Because I was sold, Connor!” you screamed, finally coming out with the truth of it all.

The Native American straightened up slightly at those words and looked at you in mute astonishment. Perhaps he found it odd that these people would sell their own kind? You weren’t sure as you tried to explain it a bit better to him.

“I was sold to the brothel…I was sold by…my own father,” you whispered pathetically, face breaking under the weight of sorrow just having to admit that a man—who was supposed to be your love and support—sold you to keep himself a home and other things.

Connor still wasn’t able to speak. Seemed you knocked the air from him with the weight of your confession.

“This world doesn’t work as you think it does, Connor,” you said somberly, embracing your abused body in the cold, winter air. “Things are just…not as simple as you think they are…” Pausing, you were reminded of how much pain your lip was in when you attempted to bite it out of habit. “I don’t covet anything as you think I do…I am chained down, because I am property…”

“Saying a man owns you is like saying he owns the ground he walks on or the air he breathes,” Connor retorted with an angry gesture at the idea. “How can people view other humans as ‘property’? Your own people sell one another as slaves; is there no end to this?”

He was disgusted, and rightfully so. It was a gross way to make money and to make a living, but there was little anybody could say about it. Not like you had a place to say such things. “I need to get back to the brothel,” you whispered pathetically, not sure what else to add on the matter.

“Why, (Y/N)?” he asked angrily, not completely sure where you would find the pleasure in this. “Why go back to the very place where you are likely to endure this again?”

“And where would you have me go, Connor?” you questioned, snapping a bit at his persistent behavior. “I told you: I cannot leave the brothel.”

“Then run from it,” the native man insisted, grabbing at your shoulder to try and sway you to the idea. “I will guide you to freedom, if you will allow it?”

Again, you broke down crying; not out of sorrow, but from overwhelming joy at the idea he would be willing to do such a thing. “And where would I go…?” you asked again, wanting to know the answer to that more than anything. “I told you, I would have nowhere to go…”

Connor paused, thinking about what to do before he was able to respond. “To my village.” At first, you thought he was lying, but you’ve never known this man to lie so far. “This brothel will not find you there.”

“Would I even fit in with your people?” you asked curiously, as the Native Americans lived much differently than the Americans in the colonies.

“I will teach you to,” said Connor without a second thought on the matter. “I will teach you to be able to do things you couldn’t before.” His hand to yours, he held it in a tight yet reassuring manner. “In the eyes of the spirits, we are all the same. No man, woman, or child is above the other.”

Closing your eyes tightly, you lowered your head as you inwardly wished you could believe such pleasant lies. Most your life you had been raised to be underneath men and that your voice mattered little to those around you, so what could possibly change out in Connor’s village?

“Alright,” you whispered pathetically, trying to dry your eyes though the bruised one still sting if you so much as moved it to blink. “I will come with you…”

Connor motioned onwards down the road where he saw you face prior. “I’ll help you in leaving tonight. We should be quick about this.”

And so you lead the way back to the brothel and made sure to just venture quickly to your bedroom where you opened the window for Connor to come in through. “I don’t have much, really,” you said, trying to get yourself together after your experience with Terrance, but it was a challenge at best. You had never been forced to have sex with a man before…and you never had one raise his hand to you like that either or a blade. Your body still reminded you of his cruel ways, and more than anything, you desired a bath to be rid of the foul touch and memories.

“Take what you need,” said Connor, who had pulled this beak hood up and over his head for some reason when sneaking about the outside of the brothel. “We can’t be burdened by too much, or the ride there will be a long one.”

Honestly, you didn’t need much. All you cared to take now was the quilt Connor had given you that night. You had money on your hip, but it was there that the tribal man removed it from you and put it on the nightstand where Lily would see it when entering the vacant room. “What are you doing? I could use that!” you reminded him in a high whisper.

“Not in my village. If this brothel wants your coins, let them have it,” he insisted, taking your hand and guiding you up and out the window regardless of how much of a challenge it would be to get you through it in the dress you wore.

All and all, you were both out of the town in due time. Connor had fetched a horse to aid in the quest back to his village, and before long, you found yourself being stared at by his people as you entered their boundaries. It was unsettling to you for some reason. Perhaps it was the stories playing on your mind and worries, but all the same, you weren’t sure what to make of it as they were speaking in a language you knew nothing of when you were ushered in through the gates.

His world was much different—you could easily see that from the moment you took everything in. While you wouldn’t outright say it, everything looked and felt primitive to you. Feeling the horse come to a stop, you let Connor dismount first before having him aid you to your feet. With everyone staring at you now, you leaned against this tribal man all the more as he felt of your salvation. “Connor…? Are you sure I belong here?” you asked nervously.

“In time, you will feel that you belong,” said Connor simply as he took your hand and guided you onwards to, what you could only assume, was his home.

It was made of animal hide and wood, and yet…the smell was a lot more pleasant than you assumed it would be when you ventured inside. There were rocks positioned in a neat circle around wood to indicate that was probably where the fire burned late at night and animal skins decorated the beds and even hung from the ceiling. Embracing yourself in the blanket you had been gifted, you looked about the primitive décor in interest. As foreign as it was, it was also welcoming.

“It is best we change your clothes,” he instructed, pulling out a pair of clothing that was made of animal hide and decorated in the most unique of ways with beads and other designs woven in the material. “You won’t like getting a gown like that dirty here.”

You smiled all the same at Connor’s words and shook your head with a cocky smirk. “These clothes are my chains,” you reminded him honestly. “I would be happy to be rid of them.”

Connor tensed at those words and looked to you curiously. “Then afterwards, you should burn them. It is best to be done with that which binds you.”

Again, you chuckled at his words as you accepted the new clothing with a nod. “I’ll be happy to do so with you once I am changed.”

The hooded man merely nodded at the idea, but in that moment you witnessed a smile spread across his lips—the first smile at all that you saw him spare to you. For some reason the sight of it made you feel at peace with everything and your decision.

Connor left the large structure to leave you to yourself and your ‘reawakening’ to say the least. The clothes were much different than what you were used to. They were heavier than what you wore, but a lot warmer and, dare you say, more comfortable? Walking around in a corset and a dress was the most uncomfortable thing any woman could be confined to. With the new clothes in place, you ventured out to meet with Connor, who was apparently speaking to this elder woman in his native tongue.

The woman stopped focusing on the man who had saved you and looked to you now with a motion to Connor to let him know you were there. You weren’t sure what was being said between them, but you could only hope you didn’t upset someone by just being there. Connor took his leave of the elder with a respectable gesture before heading towards you. “Do they fit?” he asked curiously.

“Much better than that awful dress, that’s for sure,” you answered, gazing at the elder not far from you both. “I am not…in trouble for being here, am I?”

“Mm, no,” answered Connor as he motioned to the woman standing there patiently still. “This is the Clan Mother to my tribe: Oiá:ner.” Here, he changed his language back to that of his people and motioned towards you after saying your name to indicate he was introducing her to you.

You knew that any clan elder was of high ranking, and so it was wise to not anger them so (even if this woman looked as gentle as could be). “Can you tell her that I am honored to meet her?” you asked of Connor, as the language would probably have to come in time with everything else in his village.

Connor smiled at your words and, apparently, relayed the message for you. When the elder responded, Connor looked back to you to translate. “She says she hopes you find peace here, (Y/N).”

All you could do was nod to the wise woman with your gaze to the ground as you felt almost unworthy of being allowed to look her in the eyes.

With the introductions out of the way, Connor took you back inside and worked on lighting the fire there in the housing. He did promise he was going to burn those clothes for you, so all you could do was sit by and wait for him to encourage the fire into a mighty presence in the room before handing it over to him.

His hand raised to the thought and motioned towards the crackling embers. “They are not my chains to severe,” he reminded you. “I merely got the fire started for you, (Y/N).”

Keeping your eyes on the fire, you gripped tightly onto the fabric in your possession. Just holding such a thing made you remember it all…the men who would wine and dine you, the abusive night with Terrance, and your father…the last memory made you grip it tightly all the more before throwing it finally into the fire to be done with it. Tears stinging your eyes as the hot flames caressed your face when you stoked it more with your ‘chains’, you took great pride in just watching it burn.

Connor’s reassuring hand upon your shoulder would be the only thing to make you snap back from memories of the past as you turned to your savior with a relieved (even if tear stained) smile. “Thank you again, Connor…for everything,” you whispered to him, hand upon his. “I still don’t know why you’d bother with a mere woman such as me.”

He shook his head to your words. “I bothered, because no matter what you think, you are worthy of freedom.” The man moved his finger to your cheek then and did away with your tears cautiously. “No human should suffer this life as someone’s property. You are not just a thing to be marveled at, but a woman who is free to live as she sees fit.”

A small laugh escaped your abused lips as you held his welcome touch to your face. “I thank you for this chance, Connor.” Upon saying his name, you couldn’t help but find it odd his was so ‘American’ and not really native. It prompted you to pry a bit. “Or is ‘Connor’ your real name?”

“It is not,” he answered honestly. “My name is Ratonhnhaké:ton, but if ‘Connor’ is easier to say, then I will not mind what you call me by.” Again, he let the back of his finger caress your cheek gently. “I will come either way when you call me.”

You fell into his touch all the more. Seemed you found your salvation there in his tribe, or at least you would once you were fully trained to fit in as one of them. However, with Connor there, you couldn’t say the thought troubled you as much as it once did.


	3. Shay Cormac x Reader: Her Body, the Canvas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one will feature Shay and a prostitute he saves from the Atlantic. (Also, keep in mind that drinking alcohol during the cold isn’t the best thing for you, but this is written in a time were this wasn’t considered and whiskey was thought to be ‘a cure all’.) 
> 
> Warnings: Self-harm/thoughts & mentions of suicide

Sold.

That word was like a noose in itself, and you found it harder to breathe when out in the Atlantic on a ship to head to your new master. You knew the man well enough. He frequented the brothel in New York now and again, and while he was rich and could assure your comfortable future, he was old enough to be your father and the idea of bedding with him made your stomach churn and nearly cause you to empty the contents of your unsettled stomach at the thought as the ship you were on was rustled by the abrasive waves of the sea storm.

You had found yourself venturing above deck regardless, and while you nearly lost your footing as a mighty wave crashed against the starboard side of the ship, you grabbed a hanging rope nearby to steady yourself…sobbing at the idea your life was still going nowhere—at least nowhere you desired it to go.

Your hold upon the wet rope was weak, but your elbow length gloved hand kept a firm hold all the same as you wanted a moment to think over the choice you still were plotting in the back of your mind. The water splashing upon you and over the deck, then and there, was reminding you how cold it was. It was like a thousand knives stabbing your skin and your cotton gown did little to keep the chill at bay.

Tears stinging your eyes, you knew it was either live and be stuck as a breeder for a man twice your age, or just end it all by jumping overboard.

The invisible noose still clung to your neck—making it impossible to breathe all the more as you staggered towards the railing of the ship. It was almost unfeasible to stand upright with the waves beating against the vessel as it was, but you did your best and nearly threw your arms around the wooden railing in desperation to stay near the edge as you had planned.

Looking out at the vast sea, you trembled at the thought. You played with the idea of death now and again but to actually feel so trapped that this was your only way out…it was a lot more frightening than you figured it would be. Gloved fingers digging into the woodwork, you closed your eyes tightly to beg for strength in the matter.

“I won’t be a slave anymore…I refuse…!” you murmured to yourself, as you were mostly ignored by the captain of the ship since he was trying to get through the storm with his crew and didn’t happen to notice you yet.

Honestly, you were relieved, because while the decision was a blind one…you made it nonetheless. Hefting yourself upon the railing of the ship, you didn’t let the damp dress you were in distract you from your desire to embrace death. Taking a deep breath, you ignored the sound of the captain yelling at you now and quickly dove overboard to let the cold feel of the Atlantic waters embrace you that evening.

The water was so cold you nearly inhaled the salty liquid from a gasp of surprise. Breaking the surface of the sea waters all the same, you shook your head with a hacking cough to be rid of what you did accidentally ingest. _If death is where I will find my salvation…so be it_ , you thought to yourself, watching as the ship was carried further out to sea as you too were pushed from her sights and out of the reaches of safety.

Honestly, you would have it no other way.

 

 

You had blacked out for sometime. The cold had overtaken you to the point it was nearly impossible to move after what felt like a short time. Debris from some unknown ship wreckage had found its way into your path, and you felt comfort in the thought of keeping your head above water at least. You felt freezing to death was better than drowning, though you were finding this to be just as agonizing given the slow process of it.

Your head resting against the plant of wood, you sighed through your nostrils as you were too numb to even feel how cold you were. Sounds were starting to become blurred and almost impossible to keep track of their origin. More than anything, you just begged for death.

“….ey…hey...!”

Was someone calling out to you, or were you imagining it? You lifted your head slightly to the sound of it.

“…alive, sir!”

The voices stopped for a moment—at least, you couldn’t make out many more words than that anyways. Something hit the water, and before you knew it, you were being wrestled away from the wood you were on.

“…hear me…?”

You felt something warm against your cheek; perhaps it was someone’s breath? Everything was so foggy, it was hard to say. You felt something touching your cheek—felt like leather. Turning your head slowly (as it hurt to do it too quickly), you looked weary eyed at your benefactor.

“Can you hear me…!” the man shouted this time, hoping to get you to acknowledge him.

It was hard to keep your eyes open, but you could tell he was a man…with brown hair and an accent you had yet to pinpoint as you cared little to do so. You couldn’t speak. You tried to do so, but your throat felt too frozen to even make a coherent word form.

You blacked out now and again, but you remembered a few things: the man dragging you towards a ship, the ship deck with many blacken figures looming over you, and then a decorative room of some sort…

You knew you were being undressed at some point but you were too numb and out of it to really fight the thought…at least…until you felt them go for your gloves. You instantly gained ungodly energy and found yourself almost in a state of hysteria. “ ** _DON’T!_** ”

It hurt your throat to shout that word, but if you could keep your arms covered, you would. Regardless of the man looking at you in confusion, you gave him a desperate stare before you collapsed under your own exhaustion.

Out again.

You weren’t sure for how long, but your body and senses slowly began to come back to themselves.

“Do you think there was a reason she was so intent to keep those gloves on?” a man different from the one who rescued you asked in the darkness of your mind.

“Obviously, Gist, if she found the strength to scream at me so,” answered the foreign man who rescued you from sea. “I am not one to do something a woman doesn’t like, so I’ll leave it be even if I find myself curious.”

“Indeed, but her arms could very well get frostbite if she leaves them unattended as this,” the man called Gist chastised, wishing the other man would rethink things.

Fingers twitching, you moaned as pain still struck your body now and again when attempting to move. You heard movement, and when you were able to focus on the room around you, you saw two men looming over you practically. The one with the wide brimmed hat and beard you could only assume was Gist, and the other that pulled you from the water…well…you didn’t know his name yet.

“Ah, and the lady wakes!” chimed in Gist with a motion towards you as the scene slowly came into view a bit better.

You saw the nameless man roll his eyes playfully at Gist’s comment before acknowledging you. “Are you alright?” he asked, trying not to lean in too close.

“Where…where am I…?” your voice was still frail and throat was dry and stung all the same when you inhaled the cold air. It prompted you to flinch in discomfort.

“On my ship: the Morrigan,” the nameless man answered as he motioned to Gist. “Set a course for New York. We need to dock quickly!”

“Of course, Shay,” answered Gist before taking his leave of the room.

At least that answered that question indirectly, and while your head was throbbing and your body ached, you now realized where that accent came from: Ireland. As you lie there trying to adjust to the thought of recovery, you still felt a bit of bitterness rise up in your chest that you were saved.

“Do you think you could handle a drink?” Shay asked, leaning forward on his thighs slightly.

“Of what?” you asked wearily.

“Whiskey,” the man answered simply, moving from the chair he was sitting in near his desk to grab the very drink he mentioned not far away.

You flinched at the thought unwelcomingly. “I am not…much of a whiskey drinker…”

“I don’t have tea,” Shay commented, pouring a glass regardless and heading back towards the bed you were resting in. Sitting down, he ushered the glass towards you in case you had the energy to take it yourself. “Honestly, whiskey will do you just as good in warming your body.”

You looked from the drink to the captain as if to be defiant in the idea, but honestly, you lacked the energy to even move properly.

“Can you move your arms at all?” the Irishman questioned, lowering the drink slightly.

“I can, but…they still feel heavy,” you responded.

“Let me help you then.” Shay moved one arm underneath the back side of your neck and aided you in sitting upright slowly before he brought the rim of the glass to your lips. When you showed little interest in drinking it, he sighed at the thought. “It will help, my lady—and we do have a way to go, by the way, until we’re back at New York.”

New York….the very prison you were sold from. A melancholy sigh escaped you, and the man noticed.

“Something wrong?” Shay probed, lowering the drink.

You shook your head slowly. Honestly, you just met the man, and you weren’t about to spill your past to him right away. Your mouth quivered with the thought of accepting salvation. “I’ll…I’ll take the drink…” you relented, and Shay complied with pressing the rim of the glass to your lips to help you in a small sip at first as you recoiled at the unwelcomed taste. It was so shocking that part of it dribbled from your mouth, causing Shay to quickly be rid of the accidental slip with his finger.

As you coughed over the awful taste, Shay looked to you curiously. “Did you want to wait on another taste?”

“P-Please,” you stuttered, not desiring to sample that God awful stuff again for a bit.

Shay put the glass down on the nearby desk with a nod in understanding. “Mind if I ask your name, miss?”

“Why would you want to know the name of a dying woman?” you asked curiously—trying to hide the bitterness still as you were intent on dying previously…not living.

“You appear fine to me,” Shay commented with a shrug of his shoulders as he leaned upon his thighs once more and interlaced his fingers between them. “Are you ill?”

How well you could hide your inner illness and noose from those around you. All the same, you didn’t answer, turning away from his gaze with a heavy sigh. “(Y/N),” you finally responded, avoiding his eyes still as you stared up at the ceiling.

Shay moved at your response. “It is a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N). I am Shay Patrick Cormac.”

Turning your head to Shay, you managed a brief smile. “Forgive me for not thanking you for saving me, Captain Cormac, but…” Did you want to tell him your plan? He would think you crazy and urge you into the care of someone who could tend to such a mental illness, and it was there you shook the thought from you. “…never mind.”

Shay rubbed his palm against his mouth as if to think on what to say to your trailing off thought, but he, surprisingly, said nothing. “Mm, would you mind if I removed your gloves now?” he asked, pointing to the elbow length gloves of off-white that you often wore.

Your eyes became hard and angered as you looked to him then and there with a gaze alone that expressed your desire to keep those on. “I would rather you left them alone…”

Shay raised his hands to your acidic words as if to surrender. “Alright, alright,” he whispered in hopes to keep you calm. “I can work around them then.”

You were interested to know how as you watched this man closely—showing how untrusting you were of his motives all the same—until you saw he was sincere and began to rub the fabric against your arm and fingers. Your body relaxed and your face followed as well, no longer narrowing in anger at this man’s attempt to aid you.

Shay hadn’t noticed as he was too busy focusing on your hands and the reaction to them. “Can you move your fingers at least?” he questioned, trying to aid in that thought by pressing his index finger against yours to give it a gentle push.

Chest restricted, you responded in kind with a feeble yet noticeable response as you pushed against him. “My fingers are fine,” you answered, relaxing shortly after your words escaped you. “I can’t move them as well yet, but I know I will in time.”

“I still need to move them,” said the Irishman with a crooked smile to you. “I am not sure how long you were in that water, but you are lucky to be alive.”

 _I don’t know either_ , you thought to yourself, trying to pretend you weren’t letting your mind wander as you nodded to his words of concern. “I am sure I’ll be fine till I find my way back at New York,” you said with a somber sigh, looking off to the side.

Shay moved to your other hand after checking each finger on the right to make sure they would move properly. “Why do you say that? That is our best bet for you getting a doctor.”

“I…belonged to the brothel in Greenwich, New York,” you answered reluctantly, hoping to leave out the fact you were sold prior.

“I see,” said Shay simply, removing his focus from your hands once he saw they were reacting just fine with all things considered. “Why were you out at sea then? Were you running away?”

A bitter laugh escaped from your lips before you turned to look at him with a shake of your head. “Is it alright if I spare you all the details of my life? Let’s face it, Captain Cormac,” you paused, gaze become solemn once more as if to be prudish at the thought, “after this moment, we probably won’t see one another again unless you desire to pay me for a night.”

He gave a look as if to think on the idea. Mouth turned downward for a brief moment in thought, he shrugged his brow. “Well, if you want me to, I could, (Y/N),” he answered, but his words held a tenor of laughter to them to show he wasn’t all that serious about it. “But you should focus on getting better before you venture back there or sleep with any lad, I imagine. Also, you are fine to call me ‘Shay’ if it’s better for you.”

You weren’t sure whether to laugh or be angry at his choice of words, but you found it within yourself to crack a brief smile. “Thank you.” It was a small, weary ‘thanks’, but it was there all the same. “How long till we’re back at New York?” You wanted to know how much time you had till your freedom was ripped from you once more. Honestly, it wouldn’t be long till your ‘master’ came back to fetch you personally. The thought made you almost vomit, but you swallowed harshly to keep the urge at bay.

“Two days at most,” answer the captain of the Morrigan, turning back to the whiskey glass not far away. Seeing you turn your nose up at the thought of more, he stifled a laugh. “Come on, now—you have to drink a bit more of it at least to warm your body some.”

“I am warm enough without the aid of that… ** _drink_** …”

“It is not that awful, (Y/N),” insisted Shay, trying to entice the idea upon you. “Have you honestly been drinking tea all that time at the brothel? I find that surprising given some clients I see coming and going in those brothels.”

You knew what he was insinuating—that you had to be drunk to find it within yourself to sleep with some of the men who ventured upon you. Honestly, you would find that relief pleasurable, but alcohol was not something you could stomach well. Besides the brothel mistress insisted that liquor was only for clients so that the women weren’t acting a fool and giving the men a lousy time. That’s not to say that the women didn’t sneak a bottle once in awhile. One of your closest friends was notorious for it…now you wondered how she was doing since you last saw her.

“I have only had tea, Shay,” you answered, trying not to sound hateful at his assumption. “I was forbidden alcohol at the brothel.”

“Well, I am offering it to you now,” he whispered, leaning in closer once more. “Not in a means to get you drunk, but in a means to warm you as I have no fire here, you see. If I had tea, I would give you that, but I lack such a drink.”

Looking from Shay (as if to study him), you shifted your sight back upon the glass with a hum in thought. Rolling your eyes and grunting at his insisting, you nodded slowly. “Fine…”

With the rim of the glass upon your lips once more, you felt your stomach tighten at the thought, but you forced yourself to drink a bit more no matter how hard it was. This time you were able to keep it down at least. “When I get a chance, I’ll see if I can’t get my hands on some tea,” he insisted with a lopsided smile, putting the small glass off to the side.

“Thank you…as it hardly feels like it’s working worth a damn,” you hissed in displeasure, trying to warm yourself against the blankets you were covered in.

Seeing you struggling so with the thought of staying warm, he hovered over you and began to rub your body against the covers with a hum. “Just hang in there, (Y/N), and you will tell me if you need anything as we’re sailing back to New York, yes?”

All you could think to do was nod as your face felt hot from this stranger being so close as he was. Honestly, you said nothing of it…two days were hardly enough time to be free of the brothel and the man who was responsible for your invisible noose.

 

\--

 

You found yourself stepping foot back upon New York soil once more—well, more correctly, Shay carried you to shore. Your body was still healing, and you still found it impossible to stand properly as you didn’t have much food to aid you in a quick and healthy recovery. Body heavy as lead, Shay had no problem moving you off of the Morrigan and towards a building not far from the docks.

“Fort Arsenal?” you questioned, as you knew the location, but you never knew who lived there (or cared to think on it).

“Mhm,” Shay responded with a small smile at your acknowledgement of the landmark. “That is my home.”

The mansion was huge…you could only be curious as to how many rooms there truly was as he managed to make his way to the front doors with you still very much in his arms to jiggle the knob and make his way inside with a nudge of the intricately designed doors to push them open.

The inside was as equally impressive as the outside and there were several rooms in the building—all empty. You could only be curious if such a place ever felt suffocating in terms of loneliness, but the thought to ask escaped you as you found yourself embraced by the warm, delightfully welcomed covers of his bed. The gesture was embraced to your breast, but at the same time feared. When you were offered someone’s bed before, it was to have sexual favors performed for money, so you looked to him almost terrified of what he had in mind. Not like you’d have the energy to fight him off or run away. You could hardly use your legs as it was.

“I am afraid I don’t have much food here for you to eat, so I’ll have to go hunting tomorrow,” Shay answered, moving his hand to something under his wrist…? Whatever it was, you heard it unlatched and, then you saw it—a blade of some sort was removed from its hiding place. While the motion was brief, you saw Shay’s wrist momentarily and saw that there was a scar or two underneath there.

Your eyes widened and your heart quickened in pace as if you found someone who might relate to your inner illness. _Did he cut himself…?_ The thought was to yourself, but you couldn’t help but be curious.

“What is it?” Shay asked, knocking you from your train of thought. He hadn’t noticed what you were looking at, as he removed his gloves as well as though the idea of the scars being seen would be no big deal.

You shook the desire to ask from your mind. If he were to implicate himself, you would gladly then, but not yet. “It’s nothing,” you lied, looking away from him to try and shake the eagerness to ask from your lips. “I am just woozy from the time out of sea, I think.”

“Not a sea woman, I see,” he chuckled, removing his weapons to put them carefully up against the wall nearby. “Which further begs the question as to why you were out there?”

Giving him a smirk of a smile, you responded, “That is for me to know and you to never find out, Shay.”

“Painful,” he retorted with a scoff, trying to feign hurt at your comment. “I have some bread and an apple I can give you, and I do have tea here and a fire. That should suit you for a bit till tomorrow.”

“What about you?” you asked, as you didn’t want to be responsible for eating all of his food.

“I’ll be fine,” Shay insisted with a wave at the thought to be rid of the concern as he turned on his heels and headed back from where he came to get what he promised.

It didn’t take the man that long to return with the bread and apple he had stashed away as well as a pot that he had filled with tea, apparently, and warmed over the other fire as he still needed to get the one in his bedroom going. Offering the food and drink items to you, you accepted them graciously, as you were starving from the lack of provisions he had on the Morrigan. You tried not to act ravenous over it all, but you couldn’t deny how hungry you were.

“Forgive my lack of food on my ship,” he apologized, setting the tea down on the nearby nightstand and headed to the fireplace to get the fire going. “I wasn’t exactly expecting to pick up a woman from sea.”

Swallowing the bread quickly to answer him, you did your best not to choke with a shake of your head. “Honestly, Shay, I wasn’t expecting anybody to save me…I was prepared to die that night.”

Shay turned to look at you as the fire started to spark to life there in the fireplace. “I see,” he commented, perhaps noting your dreary tone.

The thought of the brothel came back to your mind as you looked at the apple with less of an appetite for a moment. “When do you plan on sending me back to the brothel?”

“Till you’re better, I suppose,” answered Shay, getting up from the squatting position near the fire to move over to a nearby chair to acknowledge you better.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the irony in that comment. “But I am never well; even now, I fool you with the thought I am like everyone else.”

Shay looked to you and gave a slight jerk of the head at your cryptic response. “Mm?”

He was clueless as everyone else; good. “I am just being an annoying shit,” you whispered with a weak laugh, which held no meaning. It was dry in origin. “Don’t worry about me, Shay. It’s nothing important.” You would gladly wear your mask and hide your marks to the best of your ability. You were so damaged inside and out that you were surprised your scars weren’t more obvious.

“If you say so,” answered Shay, clasping his hands together in front of his knees. “You do know you can tell me whatever you feel comfortable in expressing. I am not here to judge you.”

“I decline the thought, but thank you for offering,” you answered quickly, ushering away the pleasant notion. Fingers still tapping upon the apple you held, you thought back on the scars upon his wrist and decided to be vague…in a sense. “Shay, have you ever felt so trapped in this world that you debated on existing?”

Shay was quiet, and when you found it within yourself to look at him, it almost looked as though you struck a cord of some sort. Looking away from you, the man turned his gaze to the nearby wall before leaning back in his chair to eye you curiously. “There is always a reason to keep living, (Y/N).”

“That’s not what I asked you,” you lightly chastised.

His hand moved to his mouth to debate an answer before he lowered it to his thigh with a defeated sigh. “Five times in my life, yes.” Shay seemed reluctant to depart with that answer as he closed his eyes tightly in regret. “They had names, but I prefer to ignore that for now, if you don’t mind?”

 _They?_ You questioned to yourself, but you decided it was only fair you didn’t press the subject since you weren’t exactly divulging everything about yourself either. You took a single bite from the apple, but after all things were said and done, you just wanted to sleep and pushed it off to the side as it was.

Shay watched your actions closely before going back to you. “Finished?” When you nodded, he seemed dissatisfied with that. “To take a single bite of an apple and not finish it is a bit wasteful, (Y/N),” he commented, grabbing it from where you laid it to rest and urged you to continue.

“Then why don’t you eat it?” you asked a bit annoyed at his decision to try to baby you when you were capable of handling yourself.

“Because you need this more than I do,” Shay hissed back, apparently not complying with the idea of pleasantries anymore. When you didn’t take it out of stubbornness, he exhaled an annoyed sigh and placed it back on the plate nearby. “Fine. I’ll leave it here in case you change your mind.”

You watched as Shay took to his feet then and there and headed for the bedroom door. “Where are you going?” you asked curiously.

Rubbing the exhaustion free from his face, he turned to you and gave a quick smile. “To sleep in another room, if that’s alright? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, (Y/N). I believe your body and mind are under enough stress.”

He was the first man to think of your comfort—hell, almost the first person in general to. You opened your mouth as if to thank him, but that would feel funny. You wanted to say you were sorry for prompting such ill thoughts upon him earlier, but same thing…you were too worried it would sound weird.

When you didn’t respond, Shay smiled all the same at the doorway. “I won’t be far. If you need anything, let me know. Goodnight for now.”

“Goodnight, Shay,” you said back, but the words were so weary and a faint whisper you’d be damned if he heard you.

The crackling of the fire was your only comfort, and you oddly felt lonely without Shay there with you. In the past two days he had been there at his desk in the captain’s quarters unless manning the ship, and now you were in a massive room without someone nearby. Looking back at the hardly half eaten apple, you relented in taking a few more bites before putting the core off to the side and trying to settle in to sleep.

 

\--

 

The days that continued were filled with the same routine for awhile. Shay got a doctor to visit you and check to make sure you were alright and recovering just fine. You never thought you’d be so miserable over a clean diagnosis, but you knew, once you were better, the brothel would become your home again. As you started to find your feet without the aid of anybody, you found yourself walking out at night to venture about the outer beauty of Fort Arsenal…and further still…to the nearby docks.

The thought was tantalizing. You could easily just drown yourself and be free yet again. Not like Shay would be able to stop you while he was sleeping—.

“(Y/N)?”

The sound of Shay’s voice startled you that evening, prompting you to turn quickly to him with your hand to your rapidly beating heart. He was standing there just in his pants and his hair was actually down, making him look less like himself for a moment as you rarely saw him in such a way. “Sh-Shay…God, you scared me!” you scolded quietly, exasperation shown on the chill in the air.

“Forgive me,” he apologized, keeping his distance but looking at you almost accusingly of something. “Are you…alright?”

You embraced yourself, letting the wind caress your features with a nasally sigh. “I could tell you ‘yes’, if it will make you feel better?”

Shay scoffed, looking off to the side. “But that would be a pleasant lie.”

A broken smile formed weakly upon your lips as you nodded to Shay. Seemed in the short amount of time you had spent with him, he was starting to see through you. You weren’t sure whether to be relieved or worried by that. Reaching up to rid a tear that was eager to escape your eye, you sniffled softly as if to pretend you were just allergic to something and not necessarily upset about anything. “I appreciate your concern, Shay, but, umm…I-I’ll be fine.”

He started to walk towards you then with his hand extended to you. “It’s cold out here,” he reminded you. “You really should be inside, (Y/N).” When you almost recoiled at his comfort, Shay stopped in his walk and tried to catch your gaze. “(Y/N), look at me—.”

You were used to that being a demand from clients, but it sounded soft and reassuring from this stranger. All the same, you had to be reminded that trying to hurt yourself in front of Shay probably wasn’t a grand idea for he’d keep a closer watch on you then, so you slowly caught his brown eyes in the cold darkness.

When Shay saw your eyes, he relaxed his face but kept his hand out for you to take. “Come on now,” he whispered. “You know you can always take my hand, for I will do you no harm.”

His stance and struggle to say the right words would insinuated he was aware of something you were trying to keep quiet about, and you felt yourself just want to crumble under the pressure of overwhelming sorrow. But, you swallowed the desire and reached for Shay’s hand to take it to pull yourself from the thought of embracing your own death yet again.

Even if Shay had your hand, he was slow in trying to recruit you back towards him till he felt confident to bring you close to his chest to urge you back to Fort Arsenal. “Alright now, let’s get you back inside.”

You kept your distress hidden well enough when you found yourself back at his bed with a cup of tea to try and relax your nerves and drown out your inner thoughts. “How long do you think I have, Shay?” you asked randomly, not bothering to look him in the eyes, as you felt you didn’t deserve to.

“Till what?” the man asked from where he was sitting not far from you.

“Till I am back at the brothel?” you continued, running your fingertips against the teacup casually.

The chair moaned under Shay’s shifting about as he pondered on how to respond to you. “Question is, did you want to return, (Y/N)?”

That question shocked you, but it granted little relief. What could he do? You were bought by a man who you had yet to be delivered to, so the brothel would keep you till your rightful master claimed you. “I have to.” Your words were once again soft and nearly a whisper. “And after that, I have to go to my new ‘master’ to fulfill my station as his breeding whore.”

Shay was quiet and only the fire could be heard for a time. “You were bought?”

You were reluctant to speak of it, but now you had no choice. “When you found me out at sea, I was on my way to Master Reginald, and I refused to let that be the life for me—being forced to marry and serve a man who is twice my age and old enough to be my own father, so I jumped overboard…”

“You wanted to die?” Shay probed curiously.

“That was the idea,” you said with a sarcastic laugh, finally able to look at him. “But then you saved me.” Again, bitterness was about to rise up in your words, and your look hardened under the memory. “I am sorry to sound so ungrateful, but I didn’t ask you to save me, Shay…”

“I wasn’t lying when I told you that there is always a reason to keep living,” the Irishman reminded you.

You snapped like a cornered cobra. “And what if there isn’t?”

Shay’s face hardened with determination to make you see the light as he leaned forward on his legs. “Just because you don’t see it doesn’t mean there isn’t a reason, (Y/N).” He motioned at nothing in particular. “Do you know what will happen to you tomorrow? What about three days from now? For all you know, (Y/N), your purpose could be right around the corner, and you’d end it because you have no faith there is light somewhere?”

“And what about you?” you asked venomously. “I saw the scars on your wrist when I was brought here!”

“What?” Shay moved his wrists right side up for you to see the scars vividly in the firelight. “These? It’s from me being a novice at my hidden blade back when I was—.” He paused and corrected himself quickly. “—it is from my hidden blade weapon. It took me a few cuts to know when to jerk my hand and wrist away from the blade when using it or ejecting the blade properly, so it wouldn’t cut my skin!”

You sighed, feeling more alone in this matter once more. You thought for sure the cuts were of another origin, making you rub your eyes wearily as sleep was eagerly calling you once again. “Sorry, I thought they were—.”

“—That I cut myself?” Shay interjected, moving his hands back upon his thighs. “(Y/N), I am not stupid, you know?” Here, he pointed at your gloves. “The way you’ve been acting lately…I know what you’re hiding. My question is…how bad is it that you need such gloves to hide your scars?”

You growled angrily at his accusation, and if he hadn’t been so giving and hospitable lately, you would have thrown the teacup at him and demanded he leave. “That is none of your business, Shay,” you hissed through your teeth, your face so furrowed in anger, you possibly looked like a demon there in the fire’s gentle flame.

He rubbed his forehead, trying to think of a better way about this. “If the brothel is causing you this much pain, is it wise for me to even send you back, I wonder?”

“You don’t owe me anything, Shay, so stop acting as though you do,” you insisted, the anger and resentment no longer keeping at bay as they were before, and tears of frustration staining your cheeks as they traveled to your jaw line and then to your chin. “I was picked up by the brothel years ago, and it was there my home remains until my master fetches me personally or until I find my death.”

“Nobody on this earth owes me anything and vise versa, but I still aid those in need, (Y/N).” He sighed, straightening up in the chair he was within. “But, I will send you back soon, as I can tell you’re making sure your fate is out of my hands.”

“I didn’t ask to be saved,” you reminded him quietly after a period of silence between you both.

“Even so, I would have still saved you,” whispered Shay back, moving from the chair to take the empty teacup you held. “I’ll let you rest.” He was about to leave but stopped and pointed at you accusingly. “ ** _Sleep_** this time—I mean it.”

You knew sneaking out again was possibly pointless, as he was a light sleeper and on alert. Sighing at the predicament, you found your face in your hands when the door closed and you cried in your gloved palms.

 

\--

 

The sight of the Greenwich brothel made your stomach churn, but you tried to look on the one bright spot in your life there: Primrose Lightheart. She had been your friend since you were found by the brothel years ago, and the two of you practically grew up together in the horrible living conditions. While you used cutting to calm your pain, Primrose used whiskey, and the two of you just did your best to drown out the mess you found yourself in.

As Shay had escorted you to the building, he knocked on the front door while keeping his other arm hooked about yours to keep you from running off or doing something stupid. There were voices on the other side of the door and it was there you saw a tipsy Primrose answer the door with a dumbfounded look. Her strawberry blond hair was a mess (as if you just interrupted something) as she stared at you in disbelief while leaning against the old doorframe to allow her eyes to adjust to the bright light that morning.

“(Y/N)…!” she exclaimed in disbelief, a smile appearing upon her drunken features before she motioned inward. “Mistress Cornelia!” Primrose shouted to the brothel mistress, nearly stumbling to the side to allow the woman to the front door. “Look who is back!”

You could tell Primrose was trying her best to hide her drunken behavior, and maybe the mistress was being kind in ignoring it, but you could see the drunkenness plain as day, and Shay as well as he was looking at her rather curiously. “What are you doing out here?” Mistress Cornelia scolded to Primrose, pointing inward at the brothel. “Go get ready!”

With Primrose ushered from the scene, you looked to the mistress who was quick to acknowledge Shay Cormac with a kind smile. “Morning, Mistress Cornelia,” greeted Shay as he bowed slightly in greeting. “I am Shay Patrick Cormac, and I found (Y/N) out at sea not that long ago when venturing about the Atlantic.”

The woman had raven black hair, which she kept partially back, as she wanted the wavy strands to seductively spill over her exposed shoulders where they may. Her eyes were the bluest you had ever seen, and you had your theories as to how she was able to run a brothel and business as well as she had given her looks and seductive charms. “I received a letter saying that she had fallen overboard on her travels, and I was indeed concerned we had lost her,” Mistress Cornelia admitted. Her words were genuine as she was worried over her girls, but in the end—it was a business, and if she had to have things a certain way, a scolding and whippings would happen if they weren’t so.

It was then the mistress moved towards you and got you to try and look at her. The hold wasn’t malicious, but you still felt nervous whenever Mistress Cornelia was about. Her eyes held concern, and even if she didn’t ask, you felt complied to speak. “I-I am fine, Mistress Cornelia. I promise…”

She removed her gentle hold on you and motioned inward to the brothel. “Get inside then, (Y/N). I need to write Master Reginald and tell him you are indeed alive.”

Hands together in front of your dress, you moved slowly into the brothel before turning to look at Shay one last time. “Thank you for your kindness, Master Cormac,” you expressed formally given the presence of the woman nearby.

“Be kind to yourself, (Y/N),” Shay stressed in return before the dim lighting of the building took you.

A hand grabbed you from the right hallway further from the door, and you found your heart nearly in your throat only to calm the desire to scream when you saw it was only Primrose. “(Y/N)! I can’t believe it! You’re alive!”

Her breath was horrid, but that was expected when one embraced whiskey so. “It…it wasn’t exactly the plan to be, if I am to be honest, Prim.”

Keeping a firm hold on your wrist, she looked about to check the doors on either side of the hallway to make sure none of the girls were listening before urging you down the corridor to the room you both shared. “I thought as much,” she slurred slightly, closing the door silently behind her. “I took a bit of morbid relief in the idea you’d at least be peaceful in the afterlife than in the embrace of that…ugh….that **_man_**.”

You could only think to nod while rubbing your upper arms as if to embrace yourself.

“And what about that other man that found you?” she asked, hurrying to her bed, taking your hands to urge you beside her.

“Shay Cormac?” you corrected with a shrug of your shoulders. “He saved me from the Atlantic and is a nice man and all, but he just nursed me back to health. Nothing really happened with him beyond that.”

“A pity then,” Primrose commented, reaching under her bed to pull out the hidden whiskey bottle she had there. “What are you going to do now…? You know you are still going back to that rich bastard…”

You shook your head quickly. “Find a way to end it all or just run away…start a new life for myself or something; whichever of the two comes first or seems easiest.”

“We could just sit here and drink ourselves sick, if you like?” Primrose offered, trying to hand you the whiskey bottle, but you quickly declined. It was not your desired method.

“Primrose!” bellowed Mistress Cornelia from the hallway beyond the closed door. “Get out here, girl! You have a client waiting for you!”

“Fuck,” Primrose grumbled, downing the last of the bottle quickly before tossing it out of sight where it wouldn’t be found. “Whatever you decide, darling, I wish you luck,” she said drunkenly, moving to kiss your cheek before scurrying to her feet to gain her footing and pretend she was sober.

 

 

 

The thoughts didn’t leave you later that day. As you spent the evening in your bedroom, you were later instructed by Mistress Cornelia that your new owner would be returning to fetch you personally this time to make sure you had a safe journey of some sort. Your stomach was unsettled at the thought while Primrose slept peacefully from you in the other bed that night. The pain swelling in your heart and restricting your chest was more than you could bear, and it was there you found yourself reaching under your bed to pull out a small music box.

It was an old music box from your childhood, and when opened, it looked like any music box, but when you pulled down the old, velvety covering underneath the lid down, it was there your weapon of destruction was kept. A simple shard of glass, which you knew how to use with precision, hid there out of sight. You used it to bleed out your troubles and pains and even cut your inner thighs to pretend you were menstrual and couldn’t be bothered to be sent to the streets some days.

While the actions were shrouded in the night, and your whines of discontent were muffled by you biting down on your covers, you were quick to put your gloves back on and decide that enough was enough. You were going to get away…one way or another…either by living or dead, you were going to find a way to escape this hellish fate you were dealt.

The chill of New York never felt so welcoming before as you found yourself out in the streets again. Sure, a curfew was in effect for most, but if you could ignore the guards and hurry to the docks at least, you could be free one way or another. Ignoring the pain in your arms from your actions prior, you used the alleyways of the city to stay undetected—only to be grabbed moments later by someone.

A shrill shriek escaping your lips, you flinched from the pain that ruptured through you as your arm was held so firmly. “Let me go!” you demanded, trying to fight back no matter how feeble the attempt was.

“Shush! Quiet!” ordered a familiar voice in the darkness, and it was there you relaxed, as you recognized the man.

Pushing away from Shay, you glared at him for startling you as he had. Hand to your chest, you took a moment to gather your thoughts. “Wh-What are you doing out this late?”

“I could ask you the same question, (Y/N),” Shay chastised, but his eyes went directly to your gloved arms, and it was there he noticed something.

You followed his gaze and realized that your arms had bled through the off-white gloves and were now marking your only means of concealing your foolishness. Quickly, you tried to hide your arms behind your back, but Shay wasn’t going to let you, and he was equally fast in grabbing your hand to try and get you to look at him.

“What happened?” Shay asked, though his tone was suggesting he knew and was waiting for you to admit to your behavior. “Why are you bleeding?”

“Let me go, Shay!” you demanded, trying to pull away, but the man wouldn’t allow it, and his hold on your hand merely became tighter.

“I told you, (Y/N), that you could always take my hand, for I wouldn’t harm you, but I also want you to take my hand so I can **_save_** you,” Shay reminded you, coming closer. “And the only way I can even properly save you is to see what it is you’re doing to yourself!”

 You were reluctant. Tears blinding your vision and stinging your eyes, you closed them tightly as your body weakened and you gave in to the Irishman finally. “Fine…” you whispered in defeat, showing you wouldn’t fight him anymore.

When you relaxed under his touch, Shay went to the elbow length glove to touch the fabric and threaten the idea of pulling it away to see if you’d change your mind first before finally exposing the secret you had been keeping for years. You heard him gasp in horror as he had exposed your arm…an arm that was so marked by years of cuts of different sizes and even burn marks the skin hardly looked normal—cuts trailing from just under your elbow to your wrist.

“My God,” he whispered, showing he had never seen anything like it before. When he saw the wound you had created, he was quick to try and put pressure on it to stop the bleeding. “And the other is the same?” Shay asked, getting you to move to a nearby set of boxes to sit down for a moment.

You lacked the desire to speak and merely nodded. You were too ashamed to even look at him as you sat down, head lowered like you were a child who had done wrong. “I never wanted to show anybody these,” you whispered pathetically, tears making a mess of your shaken words and staining your face. “Knowing I could cover my sin with these gloves, I wore them for years and never took them off…”

“Why would you do this!” Shay hissed angrily, not understanding why someone would be so reckless.

“It was the only way I could feel better!” you responded back, hating to admit your weakness in this situation let alone have Shay finally see it. “I always found myself underneath men who treated me as though I were nothing but a mere ‘toy’ for their amusement and sexual desires. I was trapped—felt like some invisible noose around my neck was getting tighter and tighter…I had nowhere to go…the cutting of my skin was all I had control of in my life, so I did it for years!”

Shay could feel your blood leaking through his fingers and he sighed in disbelief. “I have to get you back to my home to tend to this. I have nothing to care for it out here.”

“Whatever you do, please, Shay…don’t take me back to the brothel!” you pleaded, words almost hysterical as you nearly refused to move under his guidance. “I can’t go back there again; I can’t! He’s going to take me, and I will feel less like myself all the more!”

The man stuttered over what to say to the matter. “I…” You were pleading with him now. Hands weakly grabbing onto his leather clothing, whispering ‘please’ again and again, Shay caved under the display and nodded. “Come on…I have to get you back to Fort Arsenal.”

 

\--

 

And so you stayed, and Shay kept you indoors to keep you from sight of the brothel and the new master you were to have. At times, you found yourself thinking back on the brothel and, most importantly, your friend you left there to rot. It felt unfair…Primrose was always there for you, and you just left her there to an unsavory life with no news of what you had decided to do. However, as the days passed, the news you were to receive was unkind upon Shay’s return one day, as he came to you with a letter in his possession that held Primrose’s handwriting scribbled upon it.

He was melancholy in handing it over. “From your friend,” he said softly between you. Shay knew who Primrose was given a few stories you told him during your times together. “Mistress Cornelia was throwing it out when I happened by. Did you want me to stay with you while you read it?”

His tone would suggest you wouldn’t like what was in it, but if that were the case…you desired to be alone. “Alone, please,” you answered, cradling the message to your breast, waiting for Shay to make his leave of the room before you tore into it eagerly.

It took only a moment for the sound of shattering glass to echo about the otherwise quiet building as you had punched your fist directly into an intricately bound mirror upon the wall in Shay’s bedroom with a scream to follow.

Thinking you had designed your death, Primrose had followed behind you by drinking herself to death. The letter wasn’t addressed to anybody in particular—just to whoever found it. You had never felt more responsible for someone’s death before, and the feeling was horrific…it was your own friend too, worst of all.

Looking to the shards of glass, which had cut your fingers and gloved hand, you had just taken one while on your knees and was about to consider your arms, but instead—moved to your neck that time. You hadn’t realized the sound of someone running down the hall was echoing in the background till you felt Shay’s hand grab the wrist of the hand that was holding the broken shard.

“Drop it!” Shay demanded, his breath near your ear as you weakly fought him; his other hand grabbing your other arm to keep it away from the fight. “Drop it now, (Y/N)!”

“ ** _I killed her!_** ” you practically screamed, hand gripping the glass piece so tightly, your palm was starting to bleed till Shay managed to wrestle it away from you and toss it away upon the floor. “I killed my own friend!”

“You did no such thing!” Shay reminded you, moving your hands away from the idea of trying to go after your sharp salvation and, instead, moved you into his arms to try and calm you down in another manner. “What she decided to do was out of your control!” As you continued to fight against him, Shay continued…but with names. “Le Chasseur, Kesegowaase, Adéwalé, Hope, and my childhood friend, Liam…I was responsible for their deaths, and I live with that guilt, every day of my life…!”

Pausing in your actions, you looked to him as he had offered you these names—these five names. “Five names…” you murmured with a whimper. “They were the five times you debated death…?”

Shay recoiled, looking depressed at the thought as he hesitantly nodded. “I had to do it…I had to do it to make the world a better place, but that doesn’t make the decision any easier to live with.”

You didn’t desire to know more. Head resting against his chest, you collapsed into his embrace as sadness continued to overtake you. “Nothing we say can make it any easier…” you whimpered, knowing that the pain was going to be crippling for you both in the end.

“No,” answered Shay honestly, keeping you still in his arms, “but that is what leaning on one another is best for.”

“You told me to keep living because there is always a reason,” you reminded him softly, body still quivering from sadness. “Why do you bother after such…decisions in your life…?”

“Because I know there will be a reason for me to live,” he answered, taking one of your gloves then to remove the item from your damaged skin and expose your painful reminder. When you didn’t fight him over it, he brought the scarred flesh to his lips to kiss the damage you had done as though the sight was nothing to him. “Perhaps, in time, you will see that as easily as I do, (Y/N).”

You collapsed under his words and gestures, finding a peaceful rest underneath his chin and your ear against his chest. Maybe you would…you could only hope.


	4. Edward Kenway x Reader: Caught in a Bad Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of the Prostitute Series; a story where the reader ends up in Nassau as a prostitute and is frequented by Captain Kenway.
> 
> Rating: R {Lewd language and imagery/ mentions of rape.}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to check on artwork/ headcanons/ RP snippets/ love letters/ and see if requests are open, please check my tumblr: The Blind Geisha Teahouse: http://blindgeishateahouse.tumblr.com/

Pirates were the very people who had a say in your destiny—you had been ripped from the shores of your hometown and ferried across the seas for many long nights and days to a place called Nassau where these men and women were treated as royalty. They lived by their own rules and even if the king himself sent word to them, they laughed at the thought of ever returning to a life more befitting someone civil.

The journey to their world was not one you could so easily forget. You were like a prisoner—a toy, you dared say—that was only worthy of one thing: their so called ‘love’.

It made your skin crawl and prompted you to grit your teeth at the very notion that this was to become your life. The captain of the ship you were aboard was fine to let his men have their way with you to make ‘breaking you in’ a lot easier. You never cared for a life of prostitution; if anything, you did just fine for yourself, but once all the jewels and valuables you had were stolen and made use of by this pirate captain and his crew, they found only value in your body.

Men ripping at your clothes and being unkindly rough upon your body during those many endless nights made you scream, your stomach churn, and your cheeks would have been so unsightly if tears could leave scars. Sadly, you had no means of which to defend yourself, so you were at their mercy then.

You still were, even weeks later.

The brothel upon Nassau’s soil took you in without a second thought on the matter. The mistress was kind yet firm, of course, but the women behind those old doors with paint nearly peeling off were hardly ever the sort. Jealousy ran rampant within your prison built on the foundation of sex, greed, and lust, all because money was so hard to get a hold of, yet the pirates or any man of the sea would pay a good price for a good night with a ‘whore’. When some of the women’s income was threatened all because of you, you became the target of ridicule and threats.

You didn’t think it would get bad…you just wanted to make what you could to keep a roof over your head and get food into your stomach…but it seemed the women about you reached their limits with you ‘stealing their men’.

It was late, and you were out and about Nassau as usual, waiting for the tide to bring in the men for the evening. The chill in the sea breeze was your only friend and the small bit of clothing that you had on barely fought against the casual embrace of it. Honestly, if death would take you, then you would welcome it. You were tired, cold, and starving as the night before wasn’t exactly grand in terms of money, and so your share of the food was less than normal.

“(Y/N)!”

Your own name was like a bullet, aiming straight for your exposed back, and you trembled at just hearing it on the air. You didn’t want to turn around, because you knew that voice all too well. It was Ivy—a woman about in her mid twenties with long, flowing, golden hair and deep brown eyes with a shapely figure, which was lightly spotted in some areas with freckles. In terms of physical appearances, she looked like the ideal woman to you, and perhaps, she thought the very same thing given how she held herself. But she was cold…vicious…always doing her best to tear you down and make you feel worse in regards to your situation at the brothel as you knocked her from her throne.

She was alone, or so it seemed, and you found some relief in that. Usually, Ivy would entice the others to gang up on you and join in when it dealt with mocking you or trying to push you into the hot sand to attempt and burn your legs with the impact to the blistering ground. It was as though she were the actual mistress—trying to rule it behind Mistress Eathelin’s back with an iron fist—and you couldn’t help but fear her.

“What do you want, Ivy?” you asked, trying to still the fear in your tone, as you would not give her the satisfaction of making you cry (again). All the same, you couldn’t help but back upward as she steadily approached you like a snake in the grass.

“What has you so close to the docks, (Y/N)?” Ivy probed curiously, her features soon illuminated by the old lanterns nearby that still had candles burning within them. She had her elbows cradled, halting just a few feet away from you. Her watch was icy cold and sent a further chill down your spine as you gazed upon it so.

You opened your mouth to speak, but it was quickly cut off by another joining tone filled with taunt and malice.

“Possibly to be the first whore to get the incoming captains to fuck her raw.” It was Jacinta, a woman born of the Caribbean who used to be Ivy’s challenger until you arrived—prompting the two to team up against you the most. Her skin was as dark and smooth as chocolate, and her hair was braided in exotic ways, brown in color and alluring to the sight like the most tantalizing cascade of coffee. Her silky voice, heavy with an accent, was what drove men to lust after her the most.

It was always a race to port at times to see when the men would arrive from sea. They were usually tired, weary from battle and rolling in the riches from their misadventures, so the brothel women were quick to try and entice whoever would accept their advances. However, their ventures usually brought them home in the day as they enjoyed their times out at sea…this is why you chose to merely escape to port at night, to avoid having to tussle with the women who were fighting over the most ‘worthy looking male’.

Even with the two women converging upon you, you did your best to hold your fear in the matter. “I am just going to be here till daybreak…then I’ll be—.”

Ivy was quick to react, cutting your words off before they could drift to the cold air around you, as she grabbed harshly upon the feeble fabric that wrapped about your hips and tore it to pieces with ease. With your clothes hanging loosely upon your body, you never felt more exposed than this, prompting you to quickly embrace yourself as a harsh gasp escaped your lips and turned into crystalline vapor upon the sea air.

“If you’re going to be a whore, dear, you might as well look the part!” Ivy chastised, hissing her words as she went for the meager fabric holding your dress up and into place to tear at that next.

“What are you doing!” you screamed, trying to fight her back, only to have Jacinta enter the fray as she easily removed the other strap without much effort as you were unprepared for her attack.

“Shouldn’t you be nude, (Y/N)?” Jacinta hissed bitterly, her fingers nearly clawing at your skin as she attempted to force you to undress further. “You need to show more skin than that if you wish to entice the men!”

The thought horrified you. Drunks were free to roam about Nassau as they pleased, and if the right one saw you naked and vulnerable, it would be the end of you. Hell, if the right captain did as well, you could possibly end up battered and bruised. “Stop it! Please!” You hated crying in front of them, as you knew it showed their power over you, but you couldn’t help it given how outnumbered you were.

A harsh, clawing of a slap attacked the right side of your face, and you cringed when you felt nail cut skin. The force behind Ivy’s assault was vengeful, and even when you dared to look up at her, you could see rage burning within Ivy’s stare. You were scared if you made one wrong move she would actually do more harm.

Your hands and knees found their way to the ground, which was only subdued in heat by the chill of night. Arms trying in desperation to keep your clothes remaining in place upon your body, you closed your eyes to try and ignore their laughs of ridicule. _Just go away…just go away…_ you mentally pleaded, as you didn’t wish to excite their aggression towards you further.

“Hey!”

It was another voice completely, and you didn’t recognize it, but you could tell it was male and startled your attackers. You kept your head lowered and your left arm clung across your breast in desperation to prevent yourself from being exposed too much to any man.

His voice continued to rage on angrily at the sight. “What is going on there!”

“Quickly!” Ivy urged to Jacinta, and the two women made their leave of the scene—heading back to the brothel, no doubt.

Your head remained lowered as the two women shuffled away and the man, who was defending you, appeared not far away. You could tell from the boots he wore and the rattling of belts adoring his body with weapons he was no doubt either a pirate or some sort of adventurer. All the same, you worried in addressing your supposed savor, even upon him kneeling down to try and aid you further.

“Are you alright, lass? Can you stand?” His hand was outstretched for you to view and to take if you so desired, and you gazed upon it with your teary sight before finding the courage within you to finally look to your rescuer.

He had hay colored hair and the bluest eyes you had ever seen that pierced the dark atmosphere. A beard roughed his appearance and if the skulls upon his attire said anything, he was indeed a pirate. But…a caring pirate? It was odd to you given how you arrived on Nassau to begin with.

“I’m fine!” you answered, turning away from his kind offer with bitterness in your words as you clenched tightly onto the ripped clothing you were struggling to keep upon you. Realization upon what was going on around you made you falter, release your weary hold upon your torn clothes and just let it fall to your hips as you were in no condition or position to fight off a pirate. You had tried in the past and failed miserably, so what could possibly make this different?

As you shook from the cold and from the inevitable event that were to happen, you found yourself warmed by the tattered clothing you had released earlier, as this pirate had moved it back up to cover you best it was able in its state. His arms affixed about you, he moved you slowly to your feet to get you to stand.

Your eyes wide and your mouth agape in confusion, you moved your sight slowly back up to the pirate with tearful bewilderment. “You’re…not going to do anything…?”

The man looked at you with confusion in return. “Why should I, lass? Besides, it would hardly be the time and place for it.”

Still, his response was baffling. Very rarely did a man, let alone a pirate, pass up a chance to get a prostitute if she was at her weakest. “Who…who are you?”

“Captain Kenway, to most, of the Jackdaw,” he answered, his hand upon your lower back as he urged you to walk onward.

“No first name?” you asked boldly, following in his footsteps as you had nothing else to do at that moment.

You saw his lips thin at that question, as if debating on answering your curious inquiry. “Edward,” he relented after a pause. “You can call me whichever fancies you.” Edward turned to you then and nodded in your direction with a lidded expression, probably weary from the day’s sailing. “And you? What is your name?”

“(Y/N),” you answered meekly, continuing to follow him through the town of Nassau, nervousness still a predator to you upon every step you took.

“I am to assume you work and live at the brothel here?” Edward commented, as it was obvious he was heading back in that direction.

You quickly dug your heels into the sand and got Edward to halt in his escorting. Your grip upon your torn clothing tightening, you felt your lower lip tremble in a mixture of iciness and fear.

The pirate, halted in his tracks, turned to look at you with those enchanting blue eyes of his. “What’s wrong, lass?”

Moving a finger to under your eyes, you tried to do away with some of the tears only to feel them continuing to pour over your fingers and down your cheeks. Would telling him what happened really help? Not like he could do anything. Yes, he could murder a prostitute if he wanted, but not only did it not feel within his nature given how you met, it wasn’t within yours either—no matter how cruel the women could be. “It-It’s nothing, I just…I don’t want to go back there…”

Your voice was low and nearly inaudible, causing Edward to wonder for a moment at what you just said till it possibly dawned on him. “I am going to guess those women tormenting you were from the brothel as well?” he probed, making you turn away at the correct accusation. “I suppose things go on behind those doors that I don’t quite see at times.”

In his words, you could tell he frequented the brothel from time to time, but to be honest, you had yet to see him. Sniffling back your sadness, you nodded slowly. “A lot of things do, Captain Kenway,” you said somberly. “All you have to worry about is paying a woman to wet your cock…” The words were vulgar, but you couldn’t help yourself. “We have to worry about performing properly, if we make the right money and will be worth keeping around, men killing us…and possibly, the women killing you too…”

Edward couldn’t help but wrinkle his brow at your decision to divulge that sort of information so willingly. “Not a shy one, are you, (Y/N)?”

“If I were not meant to talk, captain…I would have chewed my own tongue off years ago,” you answered bitterly. As you moved a hand to your wounded cheek to be rid of the dampness upon it, you were again, reminded of the injury upon it and flinched.

“And where would you hope to sleep with your clothes all done in as this?” Edward asked, idly shifting his weight from one leg to the other in his stance.

You had no answer; upon realizing that, you shook your head feverishly as your face contorted into indescribable sadness, and you broke down once more into a heaving, sorrowful fit. You thought you would find reprieve within your own embrace, but it wasn’t enough; however, you felt Edward’s hands find your shoulders in a kind albeit nervous attempt to steady you and your upset.

You wished you could be grateful to his touch, but you were merely repulsed by it. Pirates abducted you from home and dragged you to their ship to force themselves upon you for countless days and nights till the arrival at Nassau where you were thrown into prostitution. You were far from home, you were scared, and you felt ruined…there was nothing this man could do to save his name given his profession. “Just…just leave me be,” you whispered pitifully, not wanting to be bothered by this pirate captain much longer. “I have nothing of value to give you…nothing that I **_wish_** to give you…”

“I never asked for anything beyond your name, lass, and you gave that one request willingly,” Edward pointed out, his voice a bit stern in the matter. “And it seems those women were hardly welcoming to your presence, love, and to sleep out here would mean your death depending what catches you first.” He gestured to you upon expressing the truth.

Your saddened frown creased into an angered one, tears still blinding your eyes as you turned to Edward with annoyance dripping from your words. “What would you have me do then, Captain Kenway?” Again, the question tasted of bitterness, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Edward’s hand moved to his mouth as the other went to his hip, and he eyed you curiously as his palm gradually drifted from left to right in thought. “Come to my Jackdaw,” he offered, removing his hand completely from his dry mouth, wet only by alcohol.

The Jackdaw? That’s right, it was his ship. The mere thought made one of your legs nervously step backward. Would he be taking you somewhere? Would you be ushered off again on the sea to a life you cared little for? You were like a wild mare—watching him closely with eyes wide in fear, nostrils flared in disgust, and if one wrong move dared betray him, you would hurry off in the opposite direction.

 “I am not going to hurt you, (Y/N),” Edward insisted, as he could see the fear building in your stance. If anything, he acted boldly, and moved his hand closer to you once more in offer for you to take it. “I’ll give you a choice, lass: you take my hand, and we’ll head to my ship, the Jackdaw; you step away from my grasp, then I take you back to the brothel.”

“You act like my life is yours to shelter, Captain Kenway,” you said quickly, not liking either of these choices. “What matter is my life to you when you’ve probably taken thousands by your blade and cannon fire?”

The pirate’s face hardened at your decision to speak thusly. “I kill who I do to live, lass. There might very well be others who fancy to take a life of a lad just because he stares upon him funny, but not I.” He scoffed, shaking the thought from him and adding, “Not even at my bloody worst.”

You couldn’t believe his words. His title alone made you see fit to that bit.

“A man takes to the seas knowing he could very well die at the hands of a pirate if he puts up the fight to do so,” Edward continued onward, his hand remaining out for yours to take. “However, if that man dies by the end of my sword, by my gun, or even my mortar fire, then that lad died with honor and bravery that most of this ruddy world lacks.”

Your tearful eyes scrunched up slowly in confusion at his words, shaking your head slightly yet again. A pirate who was dignified in his works? It felt so unreal to you, and it was hard to grasp the concept. “Who are you…?”

Edward laughed quietly at your question, even if he knew you were asking this in another light. “I just told you moments ago who I was, lass.”

“You don’t act like a pirate I’ve known,” you admitted in a whisper, debating on whether or not to take his hand.

“I am no bloody angel, (Y/N),” Edward corrected almost coldly. “I do still take pride in it for the coin, but in a world without gold, we might have been heroes.” It sounded like a quote—a quote heavy in Edward’s heart as he looked away at merely letting those words escape him before his sight found you again in the darkness.

All the same, it was hard to imagine such a thought—pirates as heroes…what garbage that felt to you. They rarely thought of others, or so it seemed. You were beginning to wonder if all pirates were as evil as the last ones you encountered or as good as Edward Kenway was being. You were still nervous, but after the run in with Ivy and Jacinta, you weren’t exactly ready to go back to the mistress to explain what happened to your clothes and your cheek, which still stung and you could feel the blood still trying to mar your skin. Your chest tensed in a deep inhale, and finally, you found relaxation when outstretching your hand and finally accepting Edward’s offer.

Edward Kenway watched you closely even well after you took his hand roughed by the sea. When you didn’t pull away, he slowly coiled his fingers around yours to accept your tender touch. “Alright, to the Jackdaw it is then.”

Even if you accepted his offer, you found your feet almost rooted to the floor before finally able to take that first step after he gently tugged upon your hand to get you to follow him. Arm still underneath your breasts to keep the torn fabric in place and your body concealed, you sniffled back your sadness as you slowly walked beside the Jackdaw Captain. “Where will I sleep?” you asked urgently in the matter, as it was late, and you were exhausted emotionally and physically. It was even making walking a bit of a challenge.

“In my captain’s quarters,” Edward answered, only to stop in his tracks when he felt you suddenly jerk upon his hold as if attempting to escape. “What is it, lass?”

Your hold nearly loosened and your lip quivered. “I…I don’t know…” The last captain you had the unfortunate run in with was eager to do all sorts of horrible things to you just to hear you scream, as he thought the sound of it was ‘melodic as it was erotic’. The mere sight of such doors would send you into a panic in worry of what would be behind them waiting for you…

He raised his other hand as if to calm your rising fear he could see swelling in your expression. “My captain’s quarters will be where you are safest, lass, unless you want to be sleeping below deck with the lads who remained on the Jackdaw?”

Neither sounded safe or inviting. You only just met this Edward Kenway, and now he was trying to usher you to his ship…what would happen then? Would he actually keep his promise that he wouldn’t harm you? All the same…if you released his hold and ran back to the brothel, nothing but scorn and the worry of more harm awaited you. Nowhere felt safe… ** _nowhere_**.

Taking a shaky inhale of a breath, you reluctantly relented to his hold once more and began to move forwards in an almost stoical state. Your hold on his hand tightened, though you hadn’t noticed until he spoke up about it. “Jesus, lass, you’re stronger than most women I know when it comes to simply holding my bloody hand!” he hissed, trying to wiggle it free of yours for a moment.

Releasing it quickly, you came back to yourself and apologized. “I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to…!”

He was rubbing along side his hand, as though you had actually injured him, but it appeared Edward was merely caught off guard when it came to your strength. “Alright…” he began, shaking it again and flexing his fingers to make sure all was in order. “Let’s try that again.”

Once more, he offered his hand to you, and like before, you took it…regardless of what it would mean in the end.

 

 

It wasn’t a long walk to the Jackdaw, but it felt like an eternity to you given that the ship felt like damnation. As its haul moaned in the sea’s water, rocking idly back and forth against the casual push from the waves, you swallowed at the sight of her. The only things that really lit the vessel up with pride were the hanging lanterns upon her and the moonlight above—not much else. She was mighty and intimidating…much more frightening in size and comparison to the other one you remembered being tortured on.

Edward noticed your gaze and motioned to the plank not far away. “Go on then, lass. I’ll be behind you, or I can be in front depending how you wish it.”

You wanted to be in front, but with this ship obviously still having crewmembers on it, you dared not take to the lead. You ushered him onward. “I will be behind you…”

Taking to the lead, Edward made it upon the Jackdaw first before aiding you upon the deck behind him. The deck was empty minus a sleeping pirate here and there; honestly, there weren’t that many left onboard and it seemed most of them went into town. It didn’t exactly give you relief by any means as you walked slowly across the boards of the ship and towards the very place you dreaded: the captain’s quarters.

Your feet felt shackled to the ground and it was almost impossible for Edward to move you for a moment. He paused in his stride and raised a curious brow to you and your behavior. “I am not going to hurt you, (Y/N); you’ll have every right to walk off this bloody ship if I don’t keep my word on that.”

You didn’t exactly have clothes that were willing to stay into place, so you couldn’t help but be nervous that you would be sleeping in the nude. A nude woman on a pirate ship felt like having a bleeding leg in an ocean full of sharks. “Will I?” you asked, voice strained in disbelief. “And what would hold you back from locking me into your room, or tying me down so I cannot escape, Captain Kenway?”

“My loyalty to my word,” Edward answered without hesitation on the matter, opening the door to his captain’s quarters and motioning onward. “Whenever you’re ready, you can go inside.”

Your legs wouldn’t allow you to move forward for a bit, but in that instance where you stalled, you noticed Edward wasn’t going to yell at you and force you to move if you didn’t wish to. Again, it was foreign to see this man act so different from the last pirate you once knew. With him leaning there near the doorway, you decided to finally take Edward at his word and ventured into his captain’s quarters.

It was a bit of a mess with boxes lining the outer ring of the room as well as the bed’s covers sprawled out lazily and nearly upon the floor, but you didn’t care to comment about it; insulting a pirate’s pride and joy was never a wise idea. The rest of it appeared neat and tidy—the desk and the circular table in the center where a large map was sprawled upon it with gold and jewels looked as though they saw the most uses when he was within this room.

“You can sleep in my bed, if you so wish, (Y/N),” Edward commented, making his way over towards you to gently grab at your chin to get you to look upon him.

You panicked for a moment at his touch, even if there was no aggression within it. Eyes wide, you watched as his sight merely was gazing upon the cut you had received from Ivy’s slap earlier.

“Might be bruised and healing up in the coming days, love,” he reminded you in regards to your injury, releasing his hold upon you. “Will you be okay with that sort of blemish to return to the brothel?”

You absentmindedly moved the back part of your hand up towards the cut to try and be done with some of the blood that was probably still there upon your cheek. “The mistress will be cross with me, but I cannot tell her what happened, or Ivy will kill me…”

“I am to guess this ‘Ivy’ was one of the women who attacked you?” Edward probed, scoffing at the mere name as though it offended him in some manner.

You nodded, looking eagerly about for a means to undress and prepare for sleep; however, being upon a pirate ship didn’t exactly make it warm compared to the brothel. You could still feel the bitter chill seep in from the outside, and you knew sleeping without clothes wasn’t best. “I am not sure what I should sleep in…this dress may very well be ruined, but I cannot ruin it further with rest…”

“I don’t have a reason to keep many dresses, lass,” Edward reminded you, turning around to look about for a solution. Moving over to one of the drawers at the left of the ship, he pulled them back and started to rummage through the clothing there to pull out a long sleeved shirt with a v-cut about the neck and ruffled at the cuffs. “I’m taller and bigger than you, so my shirts might cover you; however, because of that fact as well, I cannot grant you my pants. They would slide right off of you,” he commented, a chuckle hiding behind the seriousness of his words.

Your brow creased in confusion. He was now offering his clothes for you to sleep in? Your eyes went from the offer, back to Edward, and then back to the clothing once more. At best, it would come down to your mid thighs, and that would still have you feeling exposed, but a good part of you would be concealed from sight of his hungry graze. Knowing it was your only bet, you moved your hand to accept it from him. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“I’ll leave then to let you change,” said Edward, departing from the room to venture back out onto the deck.

Again, it felt foreign…the captain was actually willing to give you space to do as you needed and not force you to do as he wanted or desired. When in the privacy of the captain’s quarters, you let your sweaty palms slowly work away at the damaged dress to be done away with it and onto the floor before slipping into the rather large shirt that belonged to Edward.

It was warm to the touch; much warmer than what you wore, but you supposed cotton would indeed have that effect on the skin. With the shirt situated upon your body, you weren’t sure if getting Edward to let him know you were decent really needed to be done, so you instead ventured towards his bed at that moment to look into going to sleep for the night.

 

\--

 

It was a restless sleep on the Jackdaw, but it was sleep nonetheless. Edward kept his word and left you in peace throughout the night and nobody on the ship disturbed you either. Upon the following day, you put back on your torn dress (much to your dismay) and gave Edward back his shirt before being escorted back to the brothel.

Mistress Eathelin wasn’t pleased with the shape you were in upon arriving, and she could tell Edward wasn’t the one responsible for it given the fact he was escorting you to begin with. “Really, (Y/N)?” Eathelin sighed, reaching her hand out to cradling your jaw line to get you to look to the side so she could see the abused cheek where Ivy left her mark. “What happened? What man did this to you?”

“It wasn’t a man,” you lied pitifully, sniffling back your sorrow on the matter. In your words, you could see Edward looking down at you with a curious raise in his brow as if to wonder if you’d really tell on your attackers. “I was just clumsy…I tripped and fell.”

The pirate captain seemed to groan quietly at your choice of words, but you didn’t care to acknowledge it. As kind as he was, you didn’t owe him anything.

“I’ll see if I cannot cover it up with something,” Eathelin said, waving you to come inside before turning her attention to Edward Kenway with a business like smile and demeanor. “And for you, Captain Kenway? Is there anything I can help you with this morning?” She was soon resting against the doorway with her dress strap intentionally falling over her shoulder to expose her sun kissed skin all the better to the captain, her brown hair spilling over her the ridges of her body to entice his fantasies further as well.

“Not today, lass,” Edward insisted, raising his hands to the tempting offer. “Perhaps some other time I may find myself stopping back in, but not just yet. Afraid the other mistress in my life calls a bit more firmly.” He gave a knowing smirk, as though the two knew one another and shared secrets you didn’t know of, before turning on his heels and departing the brothel scene.

Mistress Eathelin slid her arm from the doorway and pushed herself to attention to turn to you there in the humid building decorated in many hanging fabrics, plant life potted inside, and the few loveseats that were stained from use. She appeared unimpressed about something as she approached you, making you slink down and to the nearby cushions of a loveseat to wait for her scolding on the matter.

“I know that man,” Eathelin commented, arms crossed just under her breasts in attempts to not hide her ‘assets’. “He’s been here a fair deal and, while a rough one in bed, he knows his limits; he wouldn’t hurt anybody.” She leaned forwards then and tried to catch your eyes with hers. “To say you just ‘fell’ and caused a rip of your dress in the process, (Y/N)…well, I know you’re being a damn liar, and you better tell me what happened.”

Her words were cold and demanding in a means to know what happened. You flinched, lowered your head and turned your feet inward as though you were being scolded by your parents. Fingers curling tightly upon the cushions, you weren’t sure what to say. “M- Mistress Eathelin…please…I cannot…”

“Fine,” she sighed, straightening her back and fixing her chocolate brown hair over her shoulders. “You will be paying me back for the dress then in your coming earnings.” Eathelin motioned down the nearby hall where the bedrooms were. “Go on. I need to get you a new gown and fix your cheek. I will be there shortly.”

 

 

You did as you were told and waited for the mistress to grant you a better dress than the last before patching up your bruised skin with the magic of makeup. If you looked close enough in your old, worn mirror, you could still very easily see the damage underneath it though (or perhaps it was because you knew what was truly there). All the same, you sighed and hardly found comfort or relief in where you resided once more in the bedroom you owned at the brothel.

Patrons came and went like every other day, but even in the parlor room, you couldn’t find it within yourself to act alluring as the other women, who were fighting for the right man to take to bed with them. Hands crossed before you and head lowered as though you were unworthy to be apart of any of it, you felt a shadow casting upon you soon enough, and you quickly raised your head to the one approaching you.

You drew in your breath harshly and quickly at the sight of him—it was Edward Kenway once more. “What are you doing back here?” you asked, hands clasping tightly onto the fabric of your loosely fitting gown.

“I frequent this place, lass,” Edward answered, reminding you of what the mistress had stated before.

At that thought, you narrowed your eyes as you realized you were working and couldn’t exactly dismiss him as you wished you could. “And why are you hovering around me, Captain Kenway?” you asked, trying not to sound spiteful but it was difficult given your feelings towards pirates.

Here, he moved his hand to his pockets and pulled a sack full of coins from his pants to offer them to you. You knew where this was going, and you felt sick to your stomach at the mere thought; however, you would easily starve or feel too weak to really perform as needed if you didn’t get the money you needed to pay back that dress…

“Why me?” you asked begrudgingly, watching Edward in worry he may try something you didn’t approve of as you still didn’t know the man well enough.

“Am I not allowed to, lass?” he questioned, shifting the satchel of coins about in his palm to let you hear how about was rattling around within it. “I am asking and paying for your time, (Y/N)—I am not demanding it.”

Swallowing harshly at the sight of it, you had to set aside your distaste of pirates for the coming evening to make this bearable if you wanted to eat again. Taking his wrists, you brought his hands together with a nod to his request. “Alright…fine. Come with me,” you said, guiding the captain pirate down the nearby hallway and taking him to your own room to wave him inside.

“So, do you have a sour taste of men in general or is it just pirates, love?” Edward came right out to ask as he started to adjust to the settings of your room. It was a simple room like any other—only the bed was the most highly decorative piece of furniture you had with ornate designs upon the headrest and the other parts of the bed frame. The fabrics upon it were of fine quality and design so sleeping and fucking upon them would be pleasant.

You frowned at his words, moving to light the few candles you had in your room, so when night fell, it would be easy to see in the space and make sense of what was going on. Your stomach was in knots the entire time. “I don’t care for pirates, no; men, I can sometimes deal with.” You didn’t want to talk about it further if you could avoid doing so, so after you lit what you needed to, you turned to him with a shaky inhale. “What do you want me to do?”

“I could tell it was my title that made you spiteful against me the most, (Y/N),” Edward pointed out, his fingertips toying with the bedside as he slid from the foot of the bed to the headrest of the bed’s decorative frame. Stopping at the headrest, he turned to face you quizzically. “Mind if I ask why?”

“You paid me to fuck you, not to talk to you, Captain Kenway,” you reminded him, arms crossed upon your chest. “So just tell me what you want, and I will do it.”

The captain moved towards you a bit cautiously, his deep blue eyes looking upon you intently so. “And you will not be enjoying it?” His fingers migrated to your hair then, and it was there you closed your eyes as if to prevent yourself from vomiting at the realization this man was touching you.

“You are paying me to pretend that I love you, Captain Kenway,” you whispered, your voice dry at speaking of such a thing. Finding your nerve to look upon him, you did so to see a neutral expression occupied his face. “So to be frank: no, I will probably not enjoy it.” You felt your stomach threatening to empty the contents of it, and you swallowed cruelly to be rid of the idea. “A pirate’s seed will be inside of me once more…I don’t desire such a horrible feeling…”

“Mm,” he hummed as if realizing then and there what the problem was. “Pirates mistreated you before. I suppose that is not an uncommon thing as most can be brutish.”

“And you are an exception?” you snapped, pulling from his touch that dared grace you.

“I never said I was a saint, (Y/N),” Edward reminded you, removing his hand from you to place it back to his side. “However, even during my drunken stupors have I ever laid a hand on a lass I cared for viciously or even do such a thing to a woman I didn’t rightly know well.”

Sucking in your lower lip, you looked away from him when he said such a thing. You still found it all hard to believe. Even the mistress admitted he could and would be a rough customer to the women if need be but he did know his limits. “Just don’t hurt me,” you pleaded, sounding like a young and insecure child in that moment.

“I will gladly do it at your pace, lass,” said Edward without hesitation, motioning towards the bed behind you both. “Here, I am at **_your_** mercy, as this is your kingdom.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that, but you found your ability to nod in agreement to the situation nonetheless. Rubbing your upper arms, your sight shifted from him to the bed and back again. “Then let’s see if you keep your word with this, Captain Kenway.”

The evening wasn’t one you had planned. You expected it to be like any other: unwelcoming and nauseating at best. His breath tasted of stale alcohol when you pushed yourself to stomach his kisses and his skin was rough to the touch given his time out at sea. Apparently, he wasn’t shy to adorn his body in tattoos—something you noticed upon him undressing, but that appeared to be a trend with most pirates, really. Some would tattoo things upon their skin to make them appear more intimidating in most cases or just to parade about with items they adorned upon their skin in terms of pride.

For a rough and money hungry pirate, Edward Kenway kept his promises. If you ever voiced or even showed you didn’t want or like something, he retreated his touch from you and merely rolled his fingertips along your side to try and relax your body and mind further. The entire night you thought it would end up with you having to deal with him inside of you, but he refrained from the temptation, it seemed, regardless of how obviously excited he became.

As you found yourself lying in bed beside him, naked as he, you took comfort in the fact he wasn’t going to force himself upon you without your consent, but you couldn’t help but be confused. “Not mad at me, are you?” you mumbled against the covers of the decorative bed.

“Why would I be?” Edward asked, pulling his hand from your body to let it rest beside him.

“Most men just come here to get their dick wet,” you admitted vulgarly, supporting your head with your hand as you kept your sight upon him. “I didn’t let you do it once to me this evening.”

“If you are asking me if I think my money was wasted, (Y/N), then no, lass—it wasn’t,” Edward answered, crossing his arms before his sprawled out body to rest his chin upon the support he made for himself. “Those women tore your dress apart and did their best to rip you into bloody pieces so no lad would bother with you. I am not a shallow man as that.”

You still looked at him with confusion distorting your features. “I still find it hard to believe you are a pirate, Captain Kenway…”

Edward shrugged his brow as though he had grown accustomed to pirates being viewed as something cutthroat and evil. “Would it help to tell you I am or was a married man, and the reason for this job was to make her happy?”

The thought only caused you further concern as well as pity for the woman he was married to. “And you choose to sleep around behind her back?” Honestly, the thought shouldn’t be all that surprising. A lot of men and even women did this sort of sin if they were able to.

The pirate turned and raised a single brow to your criticizing words. “I did say I ‘was a married man’,” Edward reminded you. “In God’s eyes I am, but to my wife, well…you’d have to ask her how she feels.”

“I am to assume she is the woman you have so eagerly had tattooed onto your arm then?” You had noticed his tattoos and took in every single one, but the one that had the most care and grace put into it was of a portrait of a woman he had upon his arm.

“That is her, aye,” Edward answered, closing his eyes and moving onto his back to move his sight to the ceiling above. “I fought long and hard to win her heart, and she gave up everything for me. I just wish I could have given her more than the rubbish shack we called ‘home’ back at my farm.”

You looked away to ponder how to feel about that before looking back to him curiously. “You still do it for her then?”

“I can sit and here and tell that’s the truth, (Y/N),” Edward began, his sight finding yours out of the corner of his eye, “but I would be a bloody fool to lie to you as that. I got lost on my way to making things better for her, and that is why she does not care for me much more, I reckon.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” you managed in a tender tone—a tone that was odd to hear coating your words to a pirate, but you began to feel for this Edward and his struggles.

 

\--

 

The days that followed would end up the same. Ivy and Jacinta did their best to try and make you miserable, but as Edward continued to stop by and to pay for your time, you found yourself able to pay off the dress cost and manage to get what you could for better food and water. The visits with Edward weren’t frequent, but they were enough during the weeks that you started to feel closer to the pirate and even allowed him to connect with you on a more physical level.

It was the first pirate you didn’t feel horrified over him having his way with you. In the beginning, he was gentle, and as you both became relaxed to the idea of one another, Edward became more aggressive at your command—he wasn’t lying when he said he would do everything under your orders.

But in the beginning, you felt nothing towards the acts and were merely falling prey to the intoxication of arousal and release like all the other encounters before him; however, the longer you spent getting to know Edward, the more attached you became to him and his character…much to your dismay…as falling to the pleasures of love was forbidden in any brothel.

You were embarrassed to meet with him one night, sadly, as a customer before him—some drunkard who usually stumbled in for a good time and taking whomever he desired—chose you for his rough afternoon romp. Your wrists had been rubbed raw from the rope, which burned them in being tied down, and your neck now had bruises and cut marks upon them from the customer’s horrible bite marks. You knew Edward wasn’t shallow, but you couldn’t help but be concerned about it all the same.

With what makeup you had your disposal, you tried to hide the damage done to your skin, but it was nearly impossible, and the pirate took notice when he came into the brothel that evening.

“Jesus, who the bloody hell did this to you, lass?” Edward asked, tilting your head away from the injuries to get a better look at them (even if they were horribly covered).

“Just…just a man who was in here earlier,” you stammered, trying to excuse his sight from it. “He is seen about here a lot, so I knew…one of these days…I would be in bed with him. He has his ‘exotic tastes’ in binding women and biting them, apparently.”

“And you just take it like a dead dog?” Edward probed further, his voice harsh and angered by the thought.

You sighed, turning your head away. “I am paid to put up with men and their ‘needs’, Edward…no matter what it may mean to my body and life,” you reminded him, rubbing your upper arms in shame and embarrassment over the thought. “I didn’t…I’ve not always had to endure this hell…” The thoughts of home at that moment came flooding back to you, and you recoiled at your own sadness at it started to rattle you to your core.

Edward moved his hand to you then to usher you into his embrace as he attempted to calm you. “How did you get here then? What happened to prompt you into this prison?”

You stalled…you never explained to Edward the reason you hated pirates and why you were even a prostitute there in Nassau. Honestly, you just assumed none of it would make a difference, so you dared not divulge the past. “I was captured…by pirates…” Upon letting that slip, you felt Edward’s chest tighten. “I was taken from my home and stripped of everything I own to sate their greed and to sate their lust, I…” You couldn’t bear to continue at the horrific images of being beaten, tied, and raped banged violently in the back of your mind.

The tears continued to cascade down your painted cheeks and you felt ill at the thought. It prompted Edward to hush you at the mere thought of what could have happened, cradling the back of your head supportively. “Explains your distaste of us then,” he murmured, his words resonating within his chest and teasing your ear as you rested against him so. When you refused to calm, he took gently to your shoulders and urged you backward to look at him. “Will you be allowed to leave the brothel with me for a moment?”

You sniffled back your sadness, looking about the room with a shrug of your brow. “I-I guess so…you did pay me, so the mistress won’t mind…”

“Alright,” Edward began, looking about the room as if the walls had eyes and ears. “Come with me then.”

You did as you were asked, trailing behind Captain Kenway back to his Jackdaw. The offer confused you. “Not to be dishonorable in your tastes, Kenway, but the bed back at the brothel would be better than this one here,” you felt the need to point out, going out to dock and soon upon the mighty vessel herself.

“That’s not why I am bringing you here, lass,” Edward admitted, motioning to a nearby crewman. “Pull up the anchor, lads! We are leaving!”

Hearing Edward attempt to take out to seas, you turned to him with a bit of terrified confusion. “Wh-What are you doing!” you exclaimed, hurrying to his side to tug at his arm boldly. You had come to know Edward Kenway so well in the past month or so that doing such a thing wasn’t beside you nor did it horrify you.

Edward ignored your desperate hold, and merely moved a supportive hand upon your grip to reassure you it would be okay. “I am capturing you and taking you back home, (Y/N),” he answered, heading for the wheel of the Jackdaw. Edward looked to you then and smirked cockily. “It’s what we bloody pirates are good at, aye—stealing other people’s property?”

You were in shock and it was the first numbness that came over your body in awhile that you had no idea how to rightly describe. The happiness that had overtaken you was so new and euphoric that it was more intoxicating than anything you could portray on paper and even vocally. “Y-You are taking me home…?” When you felt the ship remove steadily from port and witnessed Edward nod his head, you flung yourself at him as your body shook in delightful sobs.

Edward steadied himself under your unpredicted reaction, moving his nearest arm to you to cradle you close to his side as a means for you to accept that as ‘you’re welcome’ on its own. “You need but tell me where you live, lass, and I will gladly set sail to your salvation.”

Removing your face from his side, you nodded tearfully and explained to him where your home was as you weren’t sure where it would be in relation to a town like Nassau.

“Ah,” Edward commented, looking to the wind direction to begin steering the ship towards it to make the Jackdaw sail faster. “That is a ways from here, lass, so I suggest you get comfortable for awhile yet, but I do promise to do my best in getting you there safe.”

You wiped your tears from your eyes and smiled happily (for once) at his words. “And what promise of yours do I have, Edward Kenway?”

The captain scoffed at your teasing question, turning to you then. “My word, and that should be enough, (Y/N).”


	5. Jacob Frye [20/40 y/o] x Reader: On the Other Side of the Tracks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of the prostitute series where the reader is forced to live on the streets at a young age, encountering Jacob whom takes pity on her now and again; eventually, moving into the brothels to have a means to live. [Both ages of Jacob will be used—20 and 40—because of this, the reader has to be a certain age to be considered young enough to continue working at a brothel.]

It all happened too fast for you to even remember how it began. An explosion of some sort erupted through the factory, taking lives in its flames…the very flames, which you could feel heating your body into a horrible sweat. You could hardly move from where you were lying on the cold flooring as you could feel something heavy upon your back, pinning you in place. You were only five, so your small body could only imagine what had landed upon you and knocked you out during the sudden inferno, which rampaged throughout the factory. 

Panicked cries…voices expressing fear of what was to come…screams of those either being burned alive or crushed by the collapsing rafters and machinery…you couldn’t say what was worse to hear, and more than anything, you wished you could drown it out somehow. However, as the madness continued to transpire, you could just see through the curtain of fire and smoke as some woman and a few men hurried to one of your co-workers to aid them out from under the debris. It was hard to make out the figures, but they didn’t look like the police or even the London Fire Engine Establishment…so who were they? 

As you saw the larger men hurry out with a few children in their arms, you could just see the woman looking about frantically, as if searching for more survivors as another tremor of warning erupted through the factory, which you could only assume by this point was going to collapse with how much damage this explosion had done. You wanted to scream for help…you even tried to reach pathetically towards the silhouette of the woman behind the smoky curtain several feet away, but given the dry air and pressure upon your back you found your words stolen from you in regards to speaking through the chaos. 

So this was it then? You would die at the age of five? You wouldn’t even live to see your adult years? The world still felt so new and it seemed it would end as quickly as it began. Eyes closed, you waited impatiently for that thought to happen. 

The heat was getting worse as time continued, and you could only assume that, whatever was on you, had caught fire and was soon to take you to the afterlife in a matter of moments if the smoke didn’t do it first. However, the pain and heaviness upon your back began to lessen, and it was there you opened your eyes to look over your shoulder at what was going on. Your sight was a bit impaired with how sick you were starting to feel from inhaling the fire’s smoke, but you could make out three figures at best—two men and one woman. The man standing in the center just above you had moved the large piece of the rafters off of you with the aid of the woman beside him. 

You lacked words to speak. Even turning to look at your savior was painful on its own as it seemed the part of the ceiling that had smashed upon your back injured you. But, the figure in the center moved then, and it was there you saw a better vision of him. The top hat and the decorative clothes were enough to make you realize who he was given the stories you had heard—it was Sir Jacob Frye—the man knighted by Queen Victoria herself. 

“Come on, you,” Jacob urged, moving his gloved hands hastily underneath your frail body to bring you up and to his chest where he cradled you close and used his trench coat to do his best to keep the smoke from harming you further. 

As he had managed to save you, the sound of a warning creak sent chills through the both of you. You knew that sound all too well…the upper floor was probably collapsing or the ceiling itself. 

Jacob reacted quickly and jumped back with his face conveying shock at the sight of the wood and metal falling harshly to the spot where you once lay. Only for a moment could you see a bit of the debris that could have ended your life as Jacob was intentionally trying to shield you from the horrors going on. “Get back!” the man shouted, his words reverberating against your ear as you were resting against his chest so. “Rooks, save who you can and get out—all of you! The ceiling is collapsing!” 

It was painful when Jacob ran. Your back still stung from the rubble of the factory falling upon it, and you were a bit burned as well, so his slight jostling of your body was unwelcomed, causing you to whimper. He didn’t voice his sympathies to you, but he did gently dig his fingers into your hair to let you know he could hear your discomfort and was being apologetic about it. 

“Good, you are safe,” the woman you recognized from earlier expressed. Being able to see her a bit clearer now, you knew she had to be Dame Evie Frye. “Was that everyone then?” 

“I doubt it,” Jacob responded, his words a slight muffled mess given how tired you were and where you remained content to rest against his chest, which was soothing to feel expand now and again when he breathed. “I saw a few lost souls in that one.” 

“As did I,” Evie sighed in despair. “I would say we should be thankful our target took care of himself in that mishap but…at what cost?” 

You would have been content to let the two converse with themselves, but the burning sensation in your lungs became too intense for you to handle, and you began to cough violently. Jacob turned to you then before lowering himself to his knees while keeping you to his chest still. 

“What is this now?” Evie asked as she did her best to try and look over her brother at the child he held. “This one was from the factory as well…?” 

She sounded in disbelief, and you knew why, but you had not the strength to beg of her not to say a thing of it. 

“Wearing the manky clothes of one,” commented Jacob as he tried to be kind in handling you. “She was found with a piece of the ceiling on her, so that would indeed leave one to assume she was working there.” 

“But that can’t be right,” insisted Evie, gesturing to you in disgust. “She can’t be more than five or six years of age!” 

You were scared—it didn’t exactly sink in that your very own boss could be dead, but you were still frightened he would raise a fist to you all the same if you were found to be so underage for the job (that he forced you into) by Queen Victoria’s own men. The owner of the factory knew your age…he knew it the moment he pulled you from the orphanage, but he insisted that you keep it a secret and lie that you were at least older than you seemed or stayed out of sight. At that moment, you wished you were being held by your parents…you would give anything in the world to feel the loving warmth of your mother you lost a year ago or even the supportive hold of your father who also died with her. Your mind was such a mess and your body was so numb you didn’t even realize you were crying over old memories. 

“Got to get her to a doctor,” insisted Jacob as his hand cradled your dirty cheek. 

“They all do,” Evie reminded her brother, her tone a bit harsh in correcting him before a female Rook hurried towards the group. 

“The doctor should be here soon, Dame Frye!” insisted the woman in a rather labored tone to show she had possibly run quite the distance. “We can stay with the survivors if you like?” 

“That would be great if you could,” responded Evie kindly; however, you couldn’t help but grab desperately onto Jacob’s decorative clothing even if it shocked pain through your back at just moving your arm. 

Jacob looked down at you then, probably noticing the anguish that was behind such a simple action as his hand was quick to grab onto your wrist as if to beg of you to be still. 

“Don’t…I can’t go back…” you pleaded tearfully, gasping for air as your lungs still burned with every breath you took. You hacked and coughed violently once more, your battered body shaking at the horrible agony that nearly crippled you. “Please…” 

You saw Jacob’s hazel eyes shift about eagerly as he tried to think of what to say or do about the situation. It was then you saw him turn to Evie, and it was Evie who looked down at her brother in a scolding fashion as she apparently knew that look in her brother’s eyes very well. 

“Jacob, be reasonable,” Evie admonished. “She is a little girl and not some dog you found on the side of the road!” You felt Jacob sigh then in a rather annoyed fashion as his chest tensed shortly after his steady inhale. “You can hardly take care of yourself, and you’re going to watch over her now?” 

“For a bit, at least, Evie!” hissed Jacob in response. “I don’t plan on keeping her at all, but it seems she is the youngest here for some reason, and perhaps it is better to find out than toss her to the bloody wolves. She could end up back in another factory job.” 

Evie shook her head at the idea further. “The law wouldn’t see to that.” 

“Yet the law saw fit she was in one regardless!” Jacob countered, taking to his feet then and prompting you to whimper in displeasure as a slight pain nipped at your spine then. The man looked down upon you apologetically that time as he tried to move his arms in a more fitting position away from the injury. “At least till she is better, Evie,” Jacob pleaded as he moved upon his sister then. “Then we decide from there.”

“I swear, ever since you became a father, you’ve been impossible around children. Fine then,” she relented, gesturing to where you lay resting in Jacob’s arms. “However, she is going to see a doctor, and that part is final.” 

You could only hear Jacob scoff playfully at his sister’s words. “Not completely, dear sister,” insisted the man teasingly as he nodded over his shoulder. “I am going to take this one to Lindy as I trust the doctor there over any quack who would examine her.” 

Evie was quick to grab her brother by the upper arm. “You could put her in more pain if you continue to run about London with her, Jacob. It is obvious just you holding her is causing her discomfort.” 

“Then I will grab a bloody carriage,” groaned Jacob, his fingers slightly rising off of your body as if to act as a shrug. 

The humming sound of Jacob’s voice reverberating against your ear was soothing you further. It had been such a long and exhausting week, and the longer Jacob just stood there talking to his sister, the easier it was for you to just find yourself lulled to sleep by his simple words teasing your ear. 

 

 

When you woke sometime later, you were lying on your front with bandages that nearly made it impossible to move your back. Your head (though it did cause your spine a bit of discomfort) was able to move slightly, so you did to take in your surroundings. You were in a large bed for two, and it was the most comfortable bed you could ever think to sleep on as you spent most of your nights out on the streets when not at the factory. The house looked pleasant—one suited for someone of middle class—and it was there you wondered if all of that which you endured for a year was merely a dream. 

“Mum…dad…?” you called eagerly, hoping to see them come into view. 

“Shhh,” insisted a gentle, feminine voice from somewhere in the room. The sound of a dress rustling against movement accompanied the tone shortly after and you felt a gloved hand touch upon your head in a supportive way. “You’re safe now.” 

Your eyes looked frantically for the woman speaking only to come to the realization that it wasn’t who you were hoping it would be. She was an older woman who appeared to be in her thirties with wavy, brownish hair that shined with fragments of red, giving her hair an auburn look, if the light caught sight of it. The curly strands she kept pulled back behind a decorative hairpiece, which looped about the back of her head and sported a flower type you couldn’t quite place as to what kind it was. Her hair was long…longer than you’d ever seen a woman wear it. 

Out of her entire appearance, there was one thing you noticed right away and that was the baby in her arms that appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Did you end up in an orphanage? Was Jacob unable to keep you away from such a hellish fate in the end? “Where…where am I…?” 

“You’re at my home,” answered Jacob from somewhere in the room, cutting off the woman from being able to answer as she had opened her mouth to do so. 

Moving your head a bit more, you cringed till you felt the woman gently insist you remain still, but you were able to spy Jacob there at the doorway near the foot of the bed. “You need to lie still,” said the woman you knew not the name of. “If you move around too much, you’re going to do more harm than good to yourself.” 

Jacob moved more into view then, squatting down at the side of the bed to get to eyelevel with you. “I am Jacob Frye, and that’s my wife, Lindy, with my son, Emmett.” 

Lindy couldn’t help but scoff at his choice of words. “More like bearer of your child, Jacob Frye,” she corrected, rocking the sleeping child in her arms. “You didn’t propose yet.” 

“Minor detail at best,” Jacob responded sounding exasperated though the smile that crept upon his features showed he was being lighthearted. “I’ve known you since I was two, so I would say that accounts for something, love.” 

The woman shook her head with her lips twisted to the side as if to conceal any smile she wished to spare her supposed husband. “Do you think you can watch Emmett and this little one while I make something for her to eat?” Lindy asked, nodding towards where you were resting. 

Jacob turned to Lindy and offered his arms for his son, taking the boy gladly to allow her to do as she needed before turning back to you. “Ignore what she says,” he whispered teasingly to you once his wife had left the room. “She’s just a grumpy old mess because I got her pregnant so late in her life, but it isn’t my fault she’s eleven years older than I.” The man nodded to you then curiously. “What’s your name? I am afraid I didn’t get a chance to ask.” 

Your small fingers curled upon the covers of the bed as you hesitated in answering for some reason. “It…it’s (Y/N)…” you weakly responded as you did owe Jacob your life. “You’re one of the queen’s knights…aren’t you…?” 

The man smirked, rubbing the back of his son gently. “More or less,” he chuckled. “You can call me as you wish.” 

“What are you going to do with me…? Are you going to tell the queen about all of this?” you asked, voice quaking in fear. 

Jacob scrunched up his face and laughed briefly at your curious question. “Doesn’t quite work that way, (Y/N). The man I was after was your own boss, and I found him dead in his office when I arrived no thanks to that explosion. I wasn’t sent there on the queen’s behalf, and even then, it would be the bobby that would see to your punishment—not her.” 

The thought made you cringe, and your eyes began to line with tears. 

“Easy now,” Jacob continued, raising a single hand to your worries. “Nothing is going to happen to you, (Y/N). To ask why you lied about your age to work in a factory would be bloody pointless, as I have an idea as to why you did. However, may I be intrusive and ask where your parents are?” 

“He…he knew my real age,” you answered weakly, fingers continuing to idly mess with the covers you rested on. “He just…he told me to lie about it…and stay out of sight…” 

“Where are your parents?” Jacob stressed every word he spoke, giving a rather scolding look at your desire to avoid that question. 

You flinched, closing your eyes tightly before looking away in a need to not speak those words again. It was hard enough knowing they were gone, but to have to remind yourself of that fact would rupture a new pain in your heart. 

“I see,” sighed Jacob as he took to his feet then and made it to the nearby rocking chair to sit down to idly sway. “Gone, are they?” When you managed to look to him then, he nodded in understanding. “Lost my mum at birth and lost my dad when I was but a lad.” 

“Did you go to the orphanage then…?” you boldly asked. 

“Didn’t need to.” Jacob paused for a moment as he heard his son cooing, causing him to smile down at the boy as it appeared Emmett had awoken. “I was old enough to hold my own, had the money to do so, and there was a friend of the family who made sure all was well for a time till my sister and I merely lived in the home belonging to our father by ourselves.” 

Thinking back on the rough and brutal times back at the orphanage you used to belong to, you cringed and shook your head best you were able till the pain crippled you from the thought of doing more. “I can’t go back…I don’t want to go back there…” 

“You would rather live on the streets then?” Jacob asked curiously. 

“I would have more freedom, Sir Frye,” you quickly responded without hesitation, your chest heaving a bit given the discomfort you were in. 

“Your factory job is gone, love,” Jacob reminded you, his tone showing his frustration on the matter as he let Emmett pull upon his decorative clothes. “You would have to result to thieving to get by, and let me tell you, I will be quick to stop you should I be the one to catch you.” 

It sounded like a threat, and you couldn’t help but recoil at his harsh words. 

Jacob sighed, shaking his head as he moved his hand to his son’s curious grasp to let the infant grab onto his index finger instead of tugging at his clothes. “I can only take care of you for so long, (Y/N). I hope you know this.” 

You sighed pitifully at the thought. “Why…?” 

Jacob closed his eyes as if to be rid of the pitiful look you gave him. “Because, it would be my wife who would be watching over you, and she is already burdened by having to be the mother to my child and being with a bloke such as myself.” When the saddened expression you gave continued to tug upon his heart, he moved closer then. “If it were just me, I would gladly, but given my line of work, I won’t have the time to be around as often as one would like to take care of you.” 

Your heart beat wildly in your chest. “Don’t make me go back to the orphanage…please…I beg of you…” you pleaded in hushed, broken whispers. 

Jacob lowered his head then, shaking it with a heavy breath of exasperation to follow. “Heal up first, and then we’ll talk about this, yes?”

 

\--

 

It took sometime for you to recover from the injuries and burns you obtained when at the factory, but you were soon able to find your strength and ability to move about properly again. Out of the burns you received, the only scar that you received was one on your mid-back that was nearly in the shape of, what Jacob described as, a bleeding heart. You weren’t sure how to feel about having recovered. You wanted to be excited and overjoyed by the news, but soon you would be back in the orphanage if Jacob and Lindy so chose. Admittedly, you were just growing accustomed to their home and their warm welcome (even if the two had their fights behind closed doors). 

Late one evening, you could hear them whispering just outside of the bedroom door of the room they allowed you to have. It appeared to be a study of some sort with a cot within it. You could only assume it was Jacob’s study given how messy it appeared and the trinkets that were about that you didn’t quite recognize or comprehend their origins. He said he was an ‘Assassin’ once, but you had no idea what that entailed—only that it was some secret society. Getting to your feet quietly, you hurried to the door and cautiously pushed the door open a bit further to look into the hallway where the two were heard. 

“She cannot go back to the streets, Jacob,” Lindy insisted in a hushed manner. “(Y/N) is just a little girl.” 

“I am aware of that,” hissed Jacob in frustration of being reminded. “However, I promised her that I would watch over her till she got better.” There was silence for a moment before you heard slight movement. “We just don’t have the money for another child right now; otherwise, I would gladly consider it!” 

“So that’s it then?” came Lindy’s voice. “We’re just going to toss her to the bloody streets of London?” 

“Orphanage,” Jacob corrected eagerly, causing you to peek your head out a bit further to notice they were in the living room area not far from the hallway where you were. “She will be in safe and good hands.” Jacob hadn’t noticed you at all as he was too focused on his distraught wife. 

Thinking back on the orphanage, you couldn’t help but shake your head eagerly with a hushed ‘no’ to yourself, as if begging for Lindy to say something to spare you such a fate. Sadly, she said nothing and merely faltered under her husband’s reassuring words. 

“Alright then,” sighed Lindy, holding onto Jacob’s hands for a need of reassurance in the matter. “We’ll take her in the morning, I suppose.” 

Hearing such a thing, you wanted to run out of the study and hurry for the door, but you knew you’d be caught. Biting at your lower lip, you moved back into the study and thought desperately on what to do. You felt your heart nearly leap into your throat when you heard their baby crying at the end of the hall as you knew that would break them from their conversation. 

“I am coming, Emmett,” Lindy said in passing of the study room door, hurrying to her son who was sleeping in his crib in their bedroom. 

When you heard her pass by it was enough to make you scurry back to the makeshift bed in the study and try to lie down and fake sleep. You were relieved you did, as shortly after, the door creaked open and a bit of light poured in from the outside to illuminate the dark space. You knew it was Jacob checking on you, and you did your best to remain deathly still. 

The crack of light remained for a few moments until Jacob felt content with the idea you were asleep, and so, he closed the door to allow you in darkness once more. 

Left alone with your thoughts, you had to wait for everyone to fall asleep before plotting on how you would get back onto the streets again. The mere thought broke your heart, as you were hoping you had found yourself a family…but it seemed that wouldn’t be the case. 

When the night seemed to settle and Jacob took one last check in on you before bed, you quietly got back to your feet. Opening the door just a little bit, you looked down the darkened hallway where their room was to notice their bedroom door was opened a bit (perhaps in worry you might be in trouble and needed them in the middle of the night). 

_I can get past them…I am further down the hall than them_ , you reminded yourself as you went back to the study and grabbed up your clothes to stuff into a bag you managed to make with one of Jacob’s shirts, as he had left the white undershirt hung on his chair. Tying the arms of the fabric together, you dumped your own clothes into the makeshift bag and then hurried to the door once more to be cautious in sneaking out. 

You would have taken other things such as food and or money to make it by for a bit, but you didn’t want to prove to Jacob that you would result to being a little thief right away. He was kind in what he did for you even if his kindness had to end, so you instead, left everything else where it was and hurried outside of the house you were in. 

Once on the streets of Whitechapel, you turned and gazed upward at the building one last time with a heavy, depressive sigh, which could be seen on the chill in the air. “I hate it couldn’t be different,” you whispered to yourself, turning on your heels then and hurrying out of sight in hopes to have your tracks well covered before morning when they would notice you had left.

 

**\--10 Years Later--**

 

No job became open to you in all your years of searching. No factory wanted you and, upon turning ten years of age, nobody desired you for a chimney sweep either. Jacob proved to be right, and his words haunted you in every little thing you stole from unsuspecting people on the streets of London. However, in all honesty, a part of you wished he would be the one chasing you down to try and stop you from your thieving, but he never came…not in those ten long years. 

You found yourself wondering about him…trying to picture his face again…it had been so long that you were beginning to forget it, and it upset you for some reason. It was like forgetting the face of your father and that already transpired. 

The rain was coming down heavily that winter, and you found yourself wrapping up in his old shirt you had stolen some years ago. It was a mudded mess and hardly the white it once was. You had found needle and thread and extra fabric to sew patches into the spots that were nearly falling apart as you refused to throw it out. As you embraced yourself tightly in the horrible cold, you cringed with dismay when the water from the street above you splashed over the side and drenched you from head to toe. 

You were resting against a cobblestone support just out of sight of the road, and apparently that was the worst thing you could have done given how drenched you were now. Grabbing up your ruined belongings, you did your best to get your cold and wet body moving to a safer and drier place. You tried to go to a trashcan that some other poor folks had used to make a fire with, but they were intent to frighten you off and away when you had nothing of value to offer them in terms of joining. 

“I am going to die out here,” you mumbled to yourself, sitting near the docks for the time being against one of the buildings there to try and get warm. However, the shirt you had on was soaked through and so were your other clothes. If you didn’t find something warm, you would indeed die or catch pneumonia. 

You were hungry…you were tired…you were wet and freezing…you would give anything to at least have the factory job again as that would mean having some money on your person at the very least to get something warm to eat and or drink. As you trembled under the overhang of the nearby building, crying in dismay at the turn of events, you heard someone approach you. 

They appeared to merely come near you, and slowly looking upward from where you had your face buried in your overlapping arms upon your bent knees, you noticed it was two people, and one of them was trying to hand you a piece of bread. Wiping the tears from your eyes, you looked up to the offering before following the food item up to the face of the person who was holding it. Gasping at the familiar face, you felt your lower lip tremble in a mixture of overwhelming delight and from the chill in the air. 

“J-Jacob…” you chattered breathlessly. 

“Been awhile, (Y/N),” began Jacob, “but I would recognize you anywhere.” 

The food would have been welcoming, but the sight of a familiar face was even more so. Taking to your feet, you gently urged his extended hand away and hugged the Assassin tightly with a muffled whine of sorrow as you buried your face against his chest. You felt as though you had been rescued, but you knew even he would only do so much, and you still had some explaining to do…you upped and left those ten years ago without even a letter to put his mind at ease. You hadn’t even bothered to look to the other that was with Jacob, but in the brief moment of hugging him, you did catch a glimpse of the younger boy—it had to be Jacob’s son, Emmett, given how the two nearly looked alike and yet different. 

“Come on,” whispered Jacob, as he urged you closer to him. “Let’s get you somewhere a bit warmer.” 

Upon finding comfort in his house in Whitechapel, you found the home to feel a bit…emptier than you last remembered. Lindy was nowhere to be found, and you couldn’t help but be curious as to what was going on there though was too busy eating the bread that Jacob had offered you earlier and drinking hot tea to warm your body to find the words right away. 

As you filled your empty stomach, Jacob took to the old mess of a white undershirt that once belonged to him, looking it over. “So it was you who took this.” You swallowed in regret when Jacob commented about it, hoping he wasn’t mad. “I thought I had merely lost it for a time, but you hung onto it for quite awhile.” 

“It was…it was the closest thing to grab,” you admitted, fondling with the teacup as nervousness embraced you and made your words heavy. “I needed something to hold my clothes in, and I made it into a bag by tying the arms together and such.” 

Jacob’s face wrinkled in disbelief and he breathed out a laugh through his nostrils. “That was quite clever of you.”

“Thank you,” you said in return, as you weren’t sure what else to really say to the comment. As your fingers picked away at the bread you still had, your eyes began to look Jacob back up and down for a moment. He felt different than before. He still appeared the same, minus a few minor wrinkles about the outer area of his mouth, but his demeanor felt a lot less lighthearted than before. Shifting your eyes to Emmett, you noticed the quiet boy had the face of his father but the freckles of his aunt and the eye and hair color and slight curls of his mother. “Where…where is Lindy…?” 

As soon as you asked, you felt a bit of regret for doing so as it was then the air felt thick and Jacob sighed heavy heartedly at your question. “She’s taking a small break from my obnoxious arse,” Jacob weakly teased though Emmett appeared to recoil to those words for some reason. When nothing else was really said to break the tension, Jacob blinked and looked upward at the ceiling for a moment as he moved his gloved hand to his mouth as if to ponder on what else to add. “She’ll be back soon.” 

They sounded like lies or as though Jacob was uncertain. You felt badly for him as his eyes were filled with some unspoken hurt he didn’t wish to announce. 

“Mum’s been gone for five days, father,” Emmett felt the need to point out innocently enough. 

“I know—!” Jacob paused when he realized how aggressive and angry his words sounded, causing his fingers to tense and the Assassin to lower his head in a mute apology. “I know…Emmett. She just said she needed to think on things, but she will be back.” 

Emmett’s green eyes looked to you then as if wishing he could speak of something freely, but the boy refrained—probably out of respect of his father’s presence. 

Jacob ran his fingers through his hair, as he appeared to have lost his top hat and not cared to wear it as of late. Clearing his throat of the pain that was drying it, he looked to you again with a broken smile. “What do you plan to do now, love? It is obvious you never found another job.” He raised his brow curiously to you. “Was this the life you wanted?” 

You chewed the inner part of your cheek while thinking on how to answer that. “Living homeless and jobless isn’t exactly jolly,” you practically whispered. “But it’s what I have right now…till something comes along…” 

The Assassin’s hand moved then to yours, and you felt your heart leap in your chest for some reason as his hand held onto your own. “You should rest up here for a time, (Y/N). At least until you get your strength back.” Jacob’s hold on you remained supportive as he continued. “I can only offer this to you for a little while, as I will be heading to India for a time to visit my sister, Evie, with a few of the lads I have in training.” 

You slowly shook your head to the appealing offer. “Jacob, I…I can’t do that…” The first time felt like such a trick—a trick on what happiness could actually feel like, and now he was willing to be so cruel as to do it again? Why couldn’t he just take you, give you a roof over your head, and love you like you wanted in the beginning? 

The man moved forward slightly then, his hold on your hand tightening a bit. “(Y/N), I insist!” When he saw you open your mouth to refuse again, Jacob raised his hand eagerly. “For the night at least? Will you do that?” Jacob motioned off to the side at nothing in particular. “In the morning, you can take whatever you fancy before leaving, but for God’s sake, rest up, will you?” 

Biting at your lower lip, you slowly nodded to his eager and tempting offer. “Alright…I will stay the night as you ask.” You couldn’t help but feel bad for him either way. It seemed he was desperate to keep whatever he could in his life at that moment, and if his wife did indeed (perhaps) leave him…well…you could understand why then. 

Jacob managed to find a nightshirt that belonged to him when he cared to wear it as the shirt looked quite old and the wrinkles in the fabric showed how little it had been unfolded to be used. “I would give you one of my wife’s nightgowns, but she took those with her,” Jacob admitted softly, handing over his clothes to you. 

As you took it to mull over the thought of wearing something belonging to a man, you felt Jacob’s hand land reassuringly upon your shoulder. Looking into the older man’s eyes with your heart racing, you were thankful there wasn’t many candles lit to illuminate the blush upon your cheeks. 

“I am being serious when I tell you to take what you need to survive if you leave tomorrow morning,” Jacob whispered between you both. “Very little I have is of value to me, minus my son’s life. So please, take what you will if you’re so intent to live on the streets as you do.” After you nodded, Jacob moved then to kiss you upon your cheek with a subtle hum. “Sleep well, and I will see you next we meet.” 

The kiss left you rigid. Your grip upon his nightwear tightened, and you brought it closer to your chest there in the darkened study you were once again taking as your bedroom. When the Assassin left the room, you reached for him as if to urge him back into your arms, but you stalled. You didn’t have all the answers. For all you knew Lindy was just taking a break from him and would return, but still…you couldn’t deny the small crush you had on your savior. 

“Why can’t you just let me stay forever?” you asked painfully, bringing the warm clothes to your cheek to take in the soothing feeling against your skin. “Why must you play this game?” You knew Jacob probably didn’t know any better. He probably was feeling in the small bit of help he was able to give you, he was showing mercy, but in reality…it just felt like he was dangling hope in front of you and then taking it away again. 

As you went to sleep on the cot in the study once again, you did see the light filter in now and again as Jacob stopped by to check in on you. You knew he was showing his concern for you, but all you wanted to do was sleep, and Jacob nearly made that impossible in the first few hours till his visiting lessened and lessened and became nonexistent.

 

 

 

When the morning came, you woke to find the house still and quiet. It felt odd waking up in an empty home, but you figured something had come up for Emmett and Jacob, so you thought not to question it. As you found your feet again, you saw that there was a letter on Jacob’s desk addressed to you with a neatly folded up shirt dark in color and thick and warm to the feel with a sack of coins and a basket with some food items in it. Wrinkling your brow in confusion, you opened the letter to see what was inside. 

(Y/N), 

I know I told you to take what you needed, but I know you won’t do it, so I have remedied that and given you these items here. 

Use the money as you wish. It is no longer mine now. The shirt is one of the warmest ones I own, and it will last and serve you well compared to the one you kept on you for ten long years. 

Please, be careful out there, for I got lucky to see you a second time, and I do hope there will be more. 

Jacob Frye 

Folding the letter up slowly, you looked to the items he was gracious to give you. The offer was tempting, and while you would have been fine to object to it in the past, you couldn’t after having so little to allow you to get by in the past ten years. Regardless of the new shirt Jacob had bestowed upon you, you still kept the old one as well, and after having everything packed and put away properly, you hurried back to the streets of London.

 

**\--10 Years Later--**

 

A job was a job, and after none had come to you no matter how hard you looked, you soon found your salvation in the most damning of places: the Whitechapel brothel. 

You had been found by the mistress eight years ago begging for money and nearly being sexually assaulted by a man in exchange for coins. She was no fool after seeing the scenario, and she knew you had what she wanted for her brothel. The world there was cruel…unforgiving…worse than the streets of London at times. If you ever performed poorly, you were beaten and ridiculed by the mistress and the clients were far worse depending on what it was they asked for, but the pay was better than any other job you could obtain. 

The mistress saw to it that the scar upon your back remained hidden with a well placed tasseled shawl, which you hung over your shoulders and obscured your back. She went on and on about the blemish, and it made you despise the very skin you were in at times. 

The easiest and best way to deal with the day to day troubles was opium. While you weren’t allowed such a drug in the brothel, you snuck a time out to the nearby opium den to get what you needed in regards to relaxing and setting your mind at ease. It did cause your payments to the mistress to diminish rather quickly some days, and she would scold and punish you, but you had to find a way to remove yourself from it all…no matter what it took. 

Soon, you obtained your own supply and in the privacy of your own room you would smoke as you desired. The scented candles and aroma of the room could easily mask whatever scent the opium could put out, so you worried little on being caught with something you weren’t supposed to have. Lying on your side, your mind wandered to a more pleasant place and time, but often you would find your mind wandering back to him: Jacob Frye. 

You, again, hadn’t seen him in ten years, and you were beginning to wonder how he was fairing. Expelling the smoke slowly from the corner of your mouth, your heart began to race so erratically at the old, nearly faded, mental images of the man that you hadn’t even realized you were sweating a bit from it. Your mind was a mess as was your body, but you were in such indifferent bliss that you didn’t pay it much thought until a knock came upon your door, prompting you to quickly be rid of the evidence of the opium. 

“Who is it?” you asked with a small hacking cough, fanning away the smoke urgently. 

“It is the woman who owns you,” scolded Lady Owers from behind the closed door. “Open this door this instant!” 

Hiding the smoking pipe under your decorative bed, you grabbed onto the perfume bottle and sprayed yourself eagerly with it to be extra sure the mistress didn’t catch a single smell of the opium, which now lingered upon your body. Of course, you hid the scent…but not the effects…as you nearly stumbled over yourself on the way to the door to open it as Lady Owers asked. “Yes, ma’am,” you said with your head lowered, as you needed to be cautious of her smelling of your breath. 

Her hands folded before her, Lady Owers made her way into the room not the wiser on what was going on (or perhaps, not caring as she led on to believe she would). “You have no clients today, (Y/N),” she reminded you sternly, pointing to your shawl you had tossed carelessly upon the nearby chair. “Grab your belongings and hit the streets, you worthless woman.” 

Nodding hesitantly to her words, you did your best to act ‘sober’ as you grabbed up your shawl and positioned it as you needed upon your body to hide the scar on your back. 

“And (Y/N),” began the mistress in warning again, “if you come back here without the money I require, you will find yourself pushed out onto the streets again and be unwelcomed here. Do I make myself clear?” 

You flinched at the thought, nodding hesitantly to her threat. “Y-Yes, ma’am.” Taking to your feet in a rushed manner, you made your way to the streets of London as she demanded. 

It was cold, and you hardly even had it in you to raise your dress slightly higher than the other women to let men know you were a prostitute. You were too busy shivering underneath the awful, flickering lighting of the lamplight. Moving the shawl from its resting place upon your shoulders, you tried other methods in which to get warm with it, but the fabric was feeble at such a task at best. 

As the streets of London began to die down the further on the day went, you felt you had lost your chance at having a job again. You felt worthless…useless…a job to sell your damn body, and you couldn’t even do that right. Just as you had thought to give up and go back to the brothel empty handed, a voice beckoned to you from behind. 

“A scar that looks like one’s heart is bleeding,” began an all too familiar voice, prompting your sweating body to go nearly rigid for a second as you slowly turned around to place it completely. 

It was him—Jacob Frye. A much different and older looking Jacob Frye, that was. In ten years, it seemed the time had not been that kind to him in some ways. He looked thinner than you last remembered, and wrinkles adorned his forehead, outer area about the eyes, and his lips. His eyes and expression looked heavier, as though he were holding back some unknown sadness he desired not to speak of, but regardless of how much he had aged, you couldn’t help but smile in relief as your heart beat wildly within your chest. “Jacob…!” 

“Been awhile, (Y/N),” began Jacob as if to reminiscence on the last time you spoke, “but I would recognize you anywhere.” 

Wiping the tears from your face to the best of your ability, you hurried over towards him before throwing your arms around him in great relief. Your face buried in the nook of his neck, you took in the smell of him once more as his clothes he had offered you were long since gone as the mistress sold them upon your arrival. “I’ve missed you…” you whimpered, holding onto him desperately this time as he always had his ways of just showing up and disappearing again sometime after. “Please, please don’t leave me this time…!” 

You felt Jacob sigh (perhaps from guilt) as he held you tightly in return. “From a factory job, to the streets, to the brothel…a part of me worried that would happen.” 

You hated hearing him say that as it sounded like he was disappointed with you. “The mistress is threatening to kick me out, and I will once again have nowhere to go but the streets again,” you sobbed against Jacob’s clothes. “I-I need some money…anything to stay with the brothel…” 

Jacob grabbed onto your wrists then to urge you to follow him. “Come with me then,” the Assassin insisted, heading to a nearby pub to at least get you out of the cold so the both of you could sit down for a moment and talk. 

During the talk, you found that Lindy had divorced Jacob sometime ago and moved away from him. The poor man had been doing his best to keep everything under control that his own marriage suffered from it, and now it was beginning to make sense as to why he appeared so frail. You couldn’t help but be apologetic to the matter all the same as you could tell her love meant a lot to him. 

“I am…sorry for your loss,” you whispered between you both. 

“I appreciate it, (Y/N),” said Jacob weakly, taking to his pint to try and drown out the memories for a moment. “But what is done is done.” Here, he cleared his throat and tried to change the direction of the conversation. “And what of you? How long have you been at the brothel?” 

“Eight years,” you answered, fondling with the tea you were given. “I’ve been a bit rubbish with keeping up with my money…b-been dreadful at handling it.” You wanted to admit you were smoking opium, but you decided against it. 

Seemed in your falter of words, Jacob could pick up something was different about you as well. “Buying other things with it, perhaps?” the Assassin probed curiously. 

Flinching at the accusation, you tried not to show it was truthful. “I haven’t the foggiest of what you’re implying…” 

Jacob moved then, reaching across the table to grab a hold of your chin to get you to look at him. “You are a bit thinner than I last recall, and your mind is very relaxed and almost out of your control,” Jacob commented rather honestly. “Also, you smell of opium.” 

Hearing him say that, you panicked and your mouth felt dry. 

The Assassin continued to look you over curiously before removing his hold on you. “I’ve been to an opium den before, and I know what that smells like, love. Why would you be doing this to yourself…?” 

Jacob sounded concerned, and you appreciated it, but it was the best detachment you had in this world. “I-I need it…” 

“For God’s sake, (Y/N),” Jacob scolded gently from where he sat across the table from you. “I am sure there are other things that are worth it!” When you didn’t respond, he moved his hand to yours to hold it tightly again. “Just come back with me, (Y/N). I can take care of you…” You began to shake your head, face contorting into pain over Jacob repeating himself again, but Jacob was oblivious as to why you were and continued. “…I can make sure you’re alright if you’d just come with me to—.” 

“ ** _NO!_** ” you accidentally shouted, causing the patrons in the pub to nearly go silent upon your outburst. When you realized the scene you accidentally caused, you stood abruptly with an apologetic look to Jacob. “Forgive me…!” 

“(Y/N)…? Wait!” Jacob urged as you had hurried away from him and out the door. 

You wanted to think you could outrun him, but the Assassin was much faster, and Jacob caught up with you easily. Grabbing onto your wrist, he got you to stop in your tracks. Feeling the harsh hold, you accidentally erupted upon him. “I just wanted you to love me!” you shouted tearfully, looking to Jacob then as your tears blurred your vision. “I was but a child when you held me, Jacob…you could have been the family I wanted and needed back then, but you wanted me to rot in an orphanage…to be mistreated by them!” You were trying not to let your voice quiver, but it was becoming impossible at this point. “I wanted you to love me ten years later again…I wanted you to hold me to…” For a moment, you hesitated on your confession. “…to kiss me and to tell me you were going to be there for me like no other man would…! I know you were married then, but I wanted it still!” Encouraging the shawl about you tightly, you looked away with a small whimper of displeasure in the emotions that enveloped you. “And now you have the stones to show up and say this all over…?” Again, you shook your head at the thought as you had not the courage to look upon him then. “What will you do this time? Keep me for awhile and then dump me back with the whores?” 

“I didn’t have the money to keep you when you were a child, (Y/N),” Jacob admitted reluctantly, holding onto your upper shoulder to show he meant what he said. “Otherwise, I would have been happy to have you as my daughter!” When you trembled at his words as if to deny that truth, he grabbed onto both your shoulders and shook you gently to get you to look at him. “When I saw you again ten years later…I was in a bloody rough part of my marriage, and I would have slept with you out of selfish desire to feel whole again—not love.” He was eager to find your face then, trying to search you intently for some answer. “Would you have wanted that?” 

You couldn’t handle the truth any longer, prompting you to try and be free of his grasp—the very hold that you had craved for and yearned for in so long. “I-I have to go…! I have to get back to the brothel…!” 

Jacob was stronger, however, and it was here he proved it by urging you back into his arms where he kissed you upon the lips for the first time. 

The kiss was euphoric as it was relaxing and it was nearly a substitute for the opium you had become so close to in the past year. The kiss was genuine, kind and caring. Your fingers caressing his hair eagerly, you slowly pulled back from the kiss to look into his aged, hazel eyes. “I…I still have to go…” Your words weren’t as powerful and full of an eagerness to leave, but you were being honest. If you didn’t get back to the brothel, the mistress would give you hell. 

Jacob sighed through his nostrils before digging into his trench coat pocket to pull out a sack full of coins. “Take this then, and I will see you again soon,” the Assassin promised, letting you leave to head back to the brothel as you needed to. 

\--

 

You didn’t exactly see Jacob the very next day as you assumed you would, but a part of you felt that was to be so given the broken promises he had given you in the past. In the end, it mattered to you little as you spent your time in your room smoking the opium you took great relief in. If anything, it made the few clients you got that day easier to deal with, though your mind continued to wander back to Jacob and how he was doing. With how unresponsive you were didn’t seem to bother the men much, and you took relief in that as you would rather feel such a euphoric delight in your false memories of passionate times spent with Jacob than with some man who just wanted to get his cock wet. 

However, as you lay there on your bed thinking on such thoughts, you felt a mixture of sadness and need as your body began to sweat again from the effects of the opium. As your mind and heart began to race together, you heard someone calling to you, but you were too intoxicated to really respond. It wasn’t until you felt someone’s hand upon your warm forehead did you try to focus your sight and mind on what was going on around you. 

“J-Jacob…?” you murmured nearly drunkenly, as you swore it was him looming over you. 

His hand upon your cheek, he tried to get you to come back to yourself. “Yes, it is me,” he insisted, stroking your skin with his thumb. “I told you I would be back, (Y/N).” 

Moving to your knees then, you grabbed at his trench coat and kissed upon his upper chest and neck that was exposed and uncovered by his clothes. He was indeed there, and you weren’t to be sated by mere fantasies and thoughts on their own. If Jacob was willingly visiting the brothel—your room especially—he must have wanted something, right? “I’ve wanted this for so long,” you breathed excitedly, hands drifting to his belt buckles to toy with them. 

Jacob struggled against your actions, but you were too drunk on the opium to really notice. “(Y/N)—no—wait—listen!” the Assassin insisted, trying to grab at your wrists to stop you from actually being able to fish out his manhood. 

You were nearly successful, but Jacob was able to shove it back where it belonged hastily before grabbing at your wrists and pinning you down upon the bed. His body above yours, you wished he wouldn’t tease such a thought to your foggy mind as your chest heaved excitedly at the tempting idea. 

“I am not going to let you suffer as this, (Y/N),” Jacob whispered inches from your face. “You are killing yourself with the bloody opium, and I am going to make sure it stops.” He moved one of his hands then to your head to pet upon you gently and sooth your mind further. 

Desperate for the touch, you eagerly tried to move his palm against your skin to feel of the welcoming caress that was otherworldly in such a place you worked at. It was a tender, genuine, and loving touch that left you with a desire to have your thirst quenched on such a gentle stroke. “I am fine, Jacob,” you panted horribly, “as long as you are here…” 

He knew you weren’t lying, but at the same time, Jacob was concerned for the way you and your body were acting. “I am going to get you out of here, (Y/N),” Jacob whispered to you. “I am going to free you and bring you home with me, and there will be no strings attached. You will be free to do as you please, love—to stay as long as you wish.” 

Hearing those words was like a gentle shock to reality as your sexual high turned to blissful tears in a matter of no time at all. “Do you promise…?” you asked through the heavy effects of the opium drug. 

“I promise,” responded Jacob without hesitation. “I promise, (Y/N), I will not let you down this time.”


End file.
